DROWSY 

jr.  A  .MITCHELL 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  SUMMER  SCHOOL  OF  PHILOSO 
PHY  AT  MX.  DESERT 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  MOON 
THE  LAST  AMERICAN 
"LIFE'S"  FAIRY  TALES 
AMOS  JUDD 
THAT  FIRST  AFFAIR 
DR.  THORNE'S  IDEA 
THE  PINES  OF  LORY 
THE  VILLA  CLAUDIA 
THE  SILENT  WAR 
PANDORA'S  Box 


CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LO8  ANGKLKH 


"A   FANTASTIC.    SOI.KMS    RF.tilON"  —  f.,t,  AW 


DROWSY 


By 


John  Ames  Mitchell 

Author  of  "The  Last  American,"  "Amos  Judd," 
"Pines  of  Lory,"  "Pandora's  Box,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
ANGUS  UACDONALL  AND  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW   YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
JOHN  AMES  MITCHELL 


All  rights  reserved,  including  tltat  of  translator* 
into  foreign  languages 


To  the  Reader 

This  is  not  a  fairy  tale. 

The  wonders  of  to-day,  we  are  told  by  scientists, 
will  be  to-morrow  the  common  things  of  daily  life. 

Wireless  telegraphy,  it  appears,  is  but  the  crude 
beginning  to  a  deeper  knowledge  of  the  mysteries 
that  surround  us.  Waves  of  thought,  like  waves  of 
light,  obedient  to  our  will,  may  supplant  the  spoken 
word  and  the  written  message. 

And  we  learn  that  Space,  the  borderless  abyss 
through  which  we  move,  is  vibrant  with  electric  life. 
But  still  unsolved  is  the  mystery  of  the  force  that 
holds  the  moon,  for  instance,  to  its  orbit  around  the 
earth.  And  it  holds  it  with  a  mightier  power  than 
bars  of  steel. 

If  it  be  true  that  the  human  voice  goes  out  into 
space,  on  and  forever,  as  other  waves,  why  should 
not  a  lover  on  a  nearby  planet  receive  the  message 
from  an  earthly  maiden?  If  waves  of  thought  keep 
pace  with  waves  of  light,  the  call  of  a  human  heart 
would  surely  reach  him. 

This  tale  of  Drowsy  is  the  somewhat  romantic  nar 
rative  of  a  woman  and  a  reckless  lover.  An  unusual 
lover,  to  be  sure,  with  a  singular  inheritance ;  but  very 
human — and  with  a  full  equipment  of  human  faults 

v 


21.11  GRO 


vi  To  the  Reader 

and  virtues.  While  his  achievements  may  seem  to  us 
incredible,  the  coming  generation  may  regard  them  as 
commonplace  events. 

It  was  Pliny,  the  elder,  who  said,  "Indeed,  what 
is  there  that  does  not  appear  marvelous  when  it 
comes  to  our  knowledge  for  the  first  time?" 

So,  if  this  story  of  Drowsy  seems  a  fairy  tale,  let 
us  remember  that  the  Atlantic  Cable  would  be  a  fairy 
tale  to  Columbus. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THEIR  OWN  AFFAIR     ....                ...  i 

II.   How  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  BEGAN 19 

III.  UNCLE  HECTOR'S  VERDICT 33 

IV.  MATRIMONIAL 43 

V.  HE  MEETS  Two  LADIES 72 

VI.  HE  ALMOST  GETS  RELIGION 103 

VII.   TOWARD  THE  LIGHT 116 

VIII.   A  WORKER  OF  MIRACLES 132 

IX.   DREAMS? 144 

X.  THE  FARTHEST  TRAVELER 162 

XI.   UNSIGHT  UNSEEN 172 

XII.   "INCREDIBLE!" 189 

XIII.  A  MESSAGE 221 

XIV.  OVER  SEAS 229 

XV.  A  GARDEN  OF  WONDERS 235 

XVI.  THE  SOUL  OF  A  SONG 251 

XVII. "I  MEAN  IT" 259 

XVIII.   THE  CANON  OF  DESPAIR 267 

XIX.  A  YOUNG  MAN  TALKS 273 

XX.  ANOTHER  MESSAGE 280 

XXI.  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS 290 


Illustrations 


"A  fantastic,  solemn,  region"  ....     Frontispiece 


PAGE 


"Gracefully  he  floated  over  their  heads"  ...  28 
"A  cocoanut  palace  against  a  mountain  of  vanilla  ice 

cream"        .         .         .         .         .        .         .        .         .114 

'I  want  to  know  how  the  earth  looks  when  you  are 

standing  on  the  moon"     .         .         .         .         .         .120 

"And  now,  today,  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean, 

those    cities    and    those    marble    temples    are    still 

standing"    .........  124 

"Could  lift  it  in  the  air  to  any  height,  crew,  passengers, 

and  cargo" 154 

"And  glide   forever,   a   homeless   vagrant   through   the 

dusky  void" 170 

"Far  and  fast,  even  for  a  bird  man"         ....  180 

"But  who  ever  saw  such  a  diamond?"  ....  198 

"A  most  unusual  country !"......  206 

"But  once  a  city?"           .......  208 

"Older  than  human  history"  ......  209 

"The  dried  bones  of  its  own  past,  whatever  it  was"     .  212 

"But  why  build  their  cities  in  those  sunless  chasms?"  213 

"And  over  everything  an  awful  silence"         .         .         .  214 

:'A  world  of  dust  and  ashes" 215 

"The  diamonds  are  there,  and  plenty  of  them"     .         .  216 

"With  long  arms  and  very  short  legs"  •  .  .  .  .  217 
"But  the  Diva  was  far  away.  She  heard  nothing  save 

the  thing  unheard  by  others"  .....  226 


DROWSY 


THEIR  OWN  AFFAIR 

REATH  of  Scandal. 

Imperishable  zephyr!  Dispenser  of  delight 
to  all : — save  those  it  touches.  Floating  in 
playful  sport  around  the  globe,  it  does  little  harm  to 
callous  sinners.  But  it  blights,  with  a  special  and 
vociferous  joy,  superior  persons. 

The  higher  and  more  immaculate  the  victim  the 
greater  the  general  mirth.  In  the  wake  of  pleasure  it 
may  have,  at  times,  a  comic  side;  at  other  times  it 
kills — and  with  agonies  that  are  not  for  publication. 

In  a  certain  month  of  May  it  loitered  up  the  eastern 
shore  of  the  Adriatic,  lingering  briefly  at  Rovigno, 
just  long  enough  to  nip  the  budding  romance  of  an 
interesting  widow.  At  Orsera  it  electrified  the  leading 
citizens  by  linking,  in  a  gentle  whisper,  the  name  of  a 
lady  of  spotless  reputation  with  a  Platonic  Friend.  It 
spared  Parenzo.  But  at  Cittanuova  it  fanned  into 
flame  a  general  curiosity  regarding  the  relations  of  a 


2  Drowsy 

Captain  of  Cavalry  with  the  wife  of  a  certain  careless 
husband.  At  S.  Lorenzo  it  merely  put  two  lovers  on 
their  guard. 

Then  onward  for  Trieste.  In  this  search  for  savory 
victims  it  overlooked  a  villa  high  up  a  hillside.  Here, 
indeed,  the  Breath  of  Scandal  might  have  entered  and 
rejoiced!  But  the  villa,  as  if  guarding  against  this 
very  visitor,  had  drawn  before  its  face  a  screen  of 
trees  and  vines  and  flowers.  As  wise  old  Bumble  takes 
his  morning  nectar  from  the  choicest  flowers,  so  here 
might  this  fateful  zephyr  have  drunk  his  fill. 

There  was  mystery  about  this  villa. 

Natives,  whose  business  brought  them  in  the  vicin 
ity,  were  enchanted  by  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  voice. 
In  melody  and  in  power  it  was,  to  them,  a  revelation. 
Two  middle-aged  gentlemen — one  of  them  the  Cure 
of  S.  Pietro  in  Selve — both  lovers  of  music  and  who 
attended  operas  at  Milan  and  other  cities  heard  the 
celestial  voice  one  day  when  passing  near  the  villa. 
They  were  charmed.  Both  knew  it  was  no  ordinary 
singer.  But  the  singer's  identity  was  not  discovered. 

On  this  particular  morning  a  young  man  was  sitting 
alone  in  the  Loggia  of  the  villa.  Westward,  through 
one  of  the  open  arches,  he  gazed  upon  the  deep,  blue 
waters  of  the  Adriatic,  far  down  below.  Small  boats, 
with  sails  of  various  colors,  floated  here  and  there, 
like  lazy  butterflies.  The  man  was  reclining  in  an  easy 
chair  like  an  invalid — which  he  was.  Bandages  en 
cased  his  throat.  A  bullet  through  his  neck,  two 
months  ago,  would  explain  these  bandages.  It  was 


Their  Own  Affair  3 

the  price  he  paid  for  striking  an  Austrian  officer  across 
the  month.  The  Austrian  officer  had  made  an  offen 
sive  remai^-  concerning  the  Diva.  The  young  Amer 
ican  was  a  good  shot  and  in  the  duel,  three  days  later, 
he  sent  a  bullet  through  his  adversary's  chest.  It  so 
happened  that  the  Austrian,  being  also  a  good  shot, 
sent  a  corresponding  missile  through  the  young  Amer 
ican's  neck.  Then  the  Diva  and  her  defender  had 
fled  to  this  villa ;  not  together,  but  separately,  to  escape 
the  Breath  of  Scandal.  Here,  in  this  ideal  nest,  they 
found  peace  and  privacy.  Not  under  their  own  names. 
Ah,  no!  If  the  lady's  identity  were  suspected  the 
thrilling  news  would  have  circled  the  globe.  One  can 
not  be  an  opera  singer  of  world-wide  fame  and  sud 
denly  become  obscure.  The  Diva's  Italian  friends  and 
the  public  believed  that  she  was  rusticating  somewhere, 
with  relatives.  The  American's  friends  in  Paris  had 
heard  about  the  duel,  but  knew  nothing  of  his  where 
abouts.  So,  alone  and  happy,  here  on  this  Istrian  hill 
side,  they  laughed  at  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  lived  and  loved 
at  leisure.  And  what  sweeter  victory  than  looking 
down  from  a  perch  of  safety  upon  the  world  below 
where  the  Breath  of  Scandal  spared  neither  the  guilty 
nor  the  innocent?  Kind  providence  had  so  managed 
that  the  Diva's  immediate  family  was  not  inquisitive. 
It  consisted  solely  of  her  father,  a  famous  scientist, 
whose  portrait,  with  its  high  forehead,  shaggy  hair 
and  drowsy  eyes  was  a  familiar  face  to  Italian  stu 
dents.  So  absorbed  he  was  in  study  and  experiment 
that  the  adventures  of  his  yet  more  famous  daughter 


4  Drowsy 

caused  him  no  uneasiness.  Had  the  Breath  of  Scandal 
entered  his  laboratory,  it  would  have  been  ignored — 
or  ejected  as  a  liar.  The  Diva's  husband — known  as 
"The  Calamity"  by  her  friends — a  handsome  gentle 
man  of  noble  family,  had  long  since  become  immune 
to  the  Breath  of  Scandal — so  well  encased  in  his  dis 
repute  that  he  could  sink  no  further.  He  and  the 
Breath  of  Scandal  were  boon  companions.  At  present 
he  held  a  government  position  in  Siam.  Three  years 
he  had  been  there,  and  might  remain  for  ten  years 
more.  So,  at  the  cozy  Istrian  villa  were  no  jealous 
eyes  to  disturb  a  lover's  dream. 

On  this  May  morning,  too  warm,  perhaps,  in  the 
sunshine,  but  perfect  in  the  shade,  the  American,  in 
his  reclining  chair,  was  listening  to  a  singing  voice.  It 
came  to  him  from  an  inner  room  of  the  villa.  Dream 
ily  he  listened,  with  half  closed  eyes,  and  smiling 
mouth.  It  had  been  rather  a  handsome  face  before 
the  duel.  Now  the  features  were  too  sharp,  and  the 
eyes  showed  lack  of  sleep.  This  old  Hungarian 
song — a  mother's  prayer,  now  coming  from  the 
Diva's  lips,  and  heart — was  her  lover's  favorite,  and 
her  own.  It  was  given  with  the  depth  of  feeling  and 
the  art  of  a  great  singer,  herself  soon  to  be  a  mother. 
There  are  things  in  music,  often  the  simplest  songs, 
that  stir  the  imagination  and  reach  the  secret  chamber 
of  the  soul  beyond  all  others.  This  Hungarian  prayer 
was  one.  It  had  become,  to  these  two  people,  a  hymn 
of  hope,  with  its  love  and  fears,  its  yearnings  and  its 
joy.  And  into  it  the  Diva  gave  her  very  soul. 


Their  Own  Affair  5 

The  song  ended.  Then,  with  eyes  still  moist,  the 
Diva  walked  out  into  the  loggia. 

A  pleasant  thing  to  look  upon,  this  goddess  of  the 
ravishing  voice.  There  seemed  bewitchment  in  her 
figure,  in  her  carriage,  in  her  head  and  neck,  in  the 
low,  wide  brow  with  its  blackest  of  black  hair.  Be 
neath  the  heavy  lashes  of  the  midnight  eyes  lurked 
tragedy.  Their  mysterious  depths  disturbed  the  hearts 
of  men.  Yet  her  lips  told  more  of  mirth.  Certain 
critics  maintained  that  her  greatest  triumphs  were  in 
comedy.  But  as  nearly  all  grand  opera  is  for  tragedy 
she  rarely  appeared  in  lighter  roles.  This  morning,  as 
she  stepped  out  into  the  loggia,  she  could  have  passed 
for  almost  any  heroine — either  of  tragedy  or  comedy. 
Her  robe,  a  thing  of  light  material,  might  be  any 
shade  or  color ;  perhaps  a  delicate  purple  ground  with 
a  smiling  yellow  pattern — or  vice  versa ;  so  artfully  de 
signed  that  the  outlines  of  her  figure  became  elusive. 

She  bent  over,  kissed  the  invalid,  and  pressed  a 
cheek  against  his  face.  Then  she  straightened  up  and 
stood  beside  him,  looking  down  with  a  smile  that  was 
more  than  friendly.  The  invalid  returned  the  smile. 
It  was  an  easy  thing  to  do.  For  what  is  easier  than 
returning  the  smile  of  a  singing  goddess  vainly  sought 
by  other  men,  when  she  descends  from  pinnacles  of 
glory — and  freely,  joyfully  surrenders  herself,  and  all 
from  an  overpowering  love?  In  the  smile  that  lin 
gered  between  them  were  things  whose  utterance  is  not 
in  words  of  any  language: — things  that  true  lovers, 
and  they  alone,  can  ever  know.  Close  beside  him  she 


6  Drowsy 

drew  a  wicker  chair,  and  she  sat  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  studying  his  face.  Earnestly  she  looked  into 
his  eyes  as  if  searching  his  secret  thoughts. 

Flowers  may  be  the  language  of  love,  but  in  this 
case  it  was  also  French.  The  Diva  was  Italian  and 
her  French  was  more  than  good.  And  Dr.  Alton's 
French,  for  an  American,  was  not  so  very  bad.  But 
since  the  leaden  messenger  had  entered  his  neck  three 
months  ago,  he  had  spoken  no  word,  of  French,  nor 
of  any  other  language.  It  was  still  a  question  whether 
he  would  regain  his  voice  or  be  forever  mute.  And 
in  those  three  months  of  ceaseless  devotion  there  had 
come  to  the  Diva  an  amazing  gift.  So  intense  had 
been  her  desire  to  know  his  thoughts,  so  persistent  her 
efforts  to  know  what  his  silent  lips  would  utter,  that 
at  last  the  wish  was  granted.  A  mysterious  power  had 
come :  a  power  that  transferred  to  her  own  brain — 
or  soul — the  thoughts  his  lips  could  not  express. 

The  conversation  to  an  eavesdropper  would  have 
seemed  a  monologue  by  the  lady,  with  long  pauses.  In 
these  pauses  she  was  reading  her  lover's  thoughts. 
The  young  man's  pleasure  in  these  gazings  was  even 
greater  than  the  Diva's.  Within  her  eyes,  themselves 
an  entrancement,  he  found  love  and  infinite  devotion. 
Under  their  spell  he  asked  no  greater  joy  than  opening 
wide  the  secret  chambers  of  his  soul. 

"Did  the  little  blond  hero  happen  to  notice  how  I 
finished  the  prayer  song  this  morning?" 

The  little  blond  hero — who  was  some  inches  taller 
than  the  Diva  when  on  his  feet — nodded.  He  nodded 


Their  Own  Affair  7 

slowly  and  carefully  in  consideration  of  the  bandaged 
throat. 

"And  that  it  was  a  little  different  from  the  way  I 
usually  sing  it?" 

Again  the  answer  was  a  careful  nod. 

"How  did  he  like  it?    Is  it  better  that  way?" 

This  time,  after  the  faint,  affirmative  sign,  she  gazed 
longer  into  the  adoring  eyes,  waiting  a  less  simple 
answer.  She  found  it,  and  with  no  aid  from  his  lips. 

"Yes,  that  was  my  idea  precisely.  More  strength  in 
the  final  passages ;  the  deeper  feeling  of  a  mother's 
appeal."  Then,  with  closed  eyes  and  clasped  hands : 
"May  the  prayer  be  answered,  for  my  whole  soul  is 
in  it!" 

On  the  clasped  hands  the  invalid  laid  one  of  his  own, 
\vith  a  gentle  pressure,  telling  of  sympathy,  hope  and 
confidence.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  returned  his 
smile.  "Yes,  yes.  We  must  be  cheerful;  always 
cheerful  and  full  of  hope.  It  will  be  better  for  the 
child." 

After  a  silence,  in  which  both  looked  thoughtfully 
over  the  tree  tops,  toward  the  distant  coast  of  Italy, 
beyond  the  butterfly  sails  far  below  moving  here  and 
there  on  the  shimmering  surface  of  the  Adriatic,  she 
turned,  in  response  to  another  pressure  of  the  hand, 
and  again  looked  deep  into  the  patient's  eyes. 

"No,  Dr.  Cervini  says  there's  no  harm  in  my  sing 
ing  unless  I  fatigue  myself.  And  I  never  do  that." 

Hut  his  face  was  anxious.  So  with  an  air  of  cheer 
ful  confidence  she  exclaimed : 


8  Drowsy 

"I  have  decided  on  a  boy.  Yes,  a  boy !  Smile  again. 
I  love  to  see  you  smile.  Why  a  boy?  Because  boys 
are  stronger  and  bigger  than  girls;  more  reasoning; 
more  honest.  What?  Not  so  lovable  as  girls.  Oh, 
nonsense !" 

Here  a  pause. 

"I  don't  quite  understand.  Think  that  again. — Oh, 
well,  I  shouldn't  mind  if  he  was.  I  love  bad  boys.  Of 
course  we  don't  want  a  cowardly,  mean-spirited, 
stingy,  cold-blooded,  deceitful  kind  of  badness." 

Here,  after  another  pause,  she  laughed.  "Yes,  I 
suppose  that  is  just  what  I  do  mean — a  bad  boy  who 
is  good." 

Another  silence,  and  another  laugh.  "No,  never!" 
"But  tell  me,  Defender  of  Women,  why  do  you  wish 
for  a  girl?  Because  what?  She  might  be  a  perfect 
copy  of  myself?  Oh,  honey-mouthed  humbug!" 

She  rose,  stooped  over,  kissed  him,  and  sat  down 
again. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  happy,  very  happy,  whatever  the 
Bon  Dieu  gives  us." 

The  next  silence  was  longer. 

"Yes,  that  is  all  very  true.  Heredity  counts. 
There's  no  doubt  of  that.  Half  Italian,  half  Amer 
ican — there  are  worse  combinations.  But  I  am  doubt 
ful  about  the  American  half."  Here  she  frowned 
and  slowly  shook  her  head.  "I  have  a  torturing  sus 
picion  that  all  Americans — with  one  heavenly  excep 
tion — are  ignoble  things." 

The  blond  hero  smiled  and  closed  his  eyes. 


Their  Own  Affair  9 

"Not  an  opera  singer  in  the  whole  country,"  she 
went  on.  "No  music,  no  art,  no  Roman  ruins ;  just  a 
race  of  handsome,  reckless,  blood-thirsty  young  doc 
tors.  And  the  whole  miserable  wilderness,  the  whole 
continent  itself,  was  discovered  by  an  Italian!  Think 
of  that!  Think  of  how  much  we  owe  Columbus,  you 
and  I !  Were  it  not  for  him  we  should  never  have 
met — for  you  would  not  exist.  You  owe  everything 
to  Italy.  Still,  we  love  each  other  just  as  much.  That 
is  the  important  thing.  Nothing  else  really  matters." 
But  she  frowned  and  shook  a  finger.  "Nevertheless, 
if  it's  a  boy  I  shall  name  him  Columbus  Michael  An- 
gelo  Dante  Victor  Emanuel  Alton,  just  to  hide  the 
dishonor  of  his  father's  nationality." 

The  invalid  clasped  the  finger,  and  held  it.  For  a 
moment  two  pairs  of  eyes  looked  deep  into  each  other. 
Then  the  Diva  laughed.  "\Vhatideasyouhave!  The 
Good  God  gave  you  a  sunny  heart,  my  beloved.  And 
you  know — Oh,  you  know  well — that  whatever " 

At  the  sound  of  a  distant  door  bell  she  stopped 
abruptly.  Into  her  face  came  a  look  of  mild  alarm. 
Both  knew  that  no  visitor  was  \velcome.  Who  could 
enter  this  bower  unless  shadowed  by  the  Breath  of 
Scandal?  The  next  moment,  however,  her  face 
brightened.  "Oh — of  course!  It's  the  good  Dr. 
Cervini.  I  had  forgotten  he  was  to  come  early 
to-day." 

The  man  who  entered  kissed  the  tips  of  the  Diva's 
fingers.  Then  he  shook  hands  with  the  American. 

Tall,  thin,  of  brown  and  leathery  skin,  with  a  prom- 


io  Drowsy 

inent  Roman  nose,  fierce  mustaches  and  pointed  iron 
gray  beard,  he  could  easily  have  passed  for  Don 
Quixote.  But  the  fierce  mustaches  failed  to  hide  the 
lines  of  mirth  about  the  mouth.  And  from  two  calm 
eyes  beneath  the  threatening-  eyebrows  gleamed  sym 
pathy  and  benevolence.  It  was  generally  believed  that 
Dr.  Cervini  had  ushered  into  the  world  more  princes 
and  princesses,  more  grand  dukes  and  duchesses,  more 
future  kings  and  queens  than  any  man  in  Europe.  In 
those  cases  where  there  might  be  a  question  as  to  the 
propriety  of  the  little  one's  arrival,  he  was  more  than 
trustworthy.  In  such  affairs  the  Silence  of  the  Tomb, 
compared  with  Dr.  Cervini,  was  noisy  gossip. 

After  various  questions  concerning  the  patient's 
progress  he  exclaimed : 

"What  patience,  what  godlike  self-control  are 
exhibited  by  Dr.  Alton !  Younger  and  more  up-to-date 
than  I,  with  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  human  throat, 
yet  he  submits  to  my  advice  and  antiquated  treatment ! 
Medals  should  be  his!" 

Dr.  Alton,  of  course,  protested,  in  silence,  and  the 
silent  protest  was  put  in  words  by  the  Diva.  So  ran 
the  conversation  for  a  time,  Dr.  Cervini  watching  the 
Diva  with  deepest  interest. 

"Do  you  realize,  Signora,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  you 
have  developed  a  most  extraordinary  faculty?" 

"Is  it  so  very  remarkable?" 

"It  is,  indeed !  In  all  my  experience,  and  you  know 
it  covers  many  years,  I  have  seen  nothing  quite  like  it. 
Hypnotism,  mental  telepathy  and  the  old  familiar 


Their  Own  Affair  II 

tricks  are  very  different  matters.  In  your  case  a  sound 
mind  in  a  sound  body  merges  itself  in  closest  com 
munication  with  another  mind,  equally  sound  and 
normal.  I  am  wondering  if  you  could  still  read  the 
doctor's  thoughts  if  there  was  no  common  language 
between  you.  Or  is  it  his  unspoken  words  that  you 
read?" 

The  Diva  reflected.  "No,  it  is  not  his  words.  I 
feel  sure  I  should  know  his  wishes  even  if  there  were 
no  such  things  as  words."  Then,  turning  to  her  lover: 
"Tell  me,  wicked  one,  do  you  have  to  think  in  words 
when  we  talk  together? — No,  he  says  not." 

"An  amazing  faculty!"  murmured  Dr.  Cervini.  "I 
have  never  seen  nor  heard  of  such  a  case.  You  two, 
as  I  understand,  can  carry  on  an  endless  conversation, 
and  without  a  word  from  him." 

"Yes,  except,  sometimes,  names  of  people  or  of 
places.  Then,  if  I  don't  know  them,  he  writes  them 
for  me." 

"Could  you  read  the  thoughts  of  another  person,  do 
you  think?  Of  others,  beside  our  invalid,  here?" 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know!  I  never  tried.  It's 
a  terrible  thought.  Could  anything  be  more  frightful 
than  to  know,  at  times,  what  people  really  thought  of 
you?  No,  no,  Heaven  forbid!" 

Dr.  Cervini  laughed.  "Oh,  you  would  have  little 
to  fear  on  that  score!"  Then,  tapping  the  hand  of  the 
invalid,  "But  you  and  I,  Doctor,  we  professional  sin 
ners! — well — that  would  indeed  be  humiliating!  Our 
crosses  would  be  heavy!" 


12  Drowsy 

The  invalid  smiled,  then  looked  at  the  Diva.  And 
the  Diva  laughed,  blushed  and  shook  her  head. 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"It's  too  foolish  to  repeat.     He's  a  silly  boy." 

"I  insist  upon  knowing." 

"He  says .  No,  no.  I  couldn't  repeat  it!  His 

brain  is  affected.  His  blond  wits  are  wandering." 

Dr.  Cervini  frowned  and  looked  his  fiercest.  "What 
manners!  Secret  messages  in  the  very  presence  of  a 
guest!" 

"Well — he  says  the  unspoken  thoughts  of  a  grateful 
world  might  intoxicate  me,  and  he  doesn't  enjoy 
drunkards." 

Dr.  Cervini  laughed.  "No,  you  are  mistaken,  Doc 
tor.  She  has  already  survived  that  test.  No  living 
conqueror  has  sailed  in  triumph  on  such  seas  of  glory. 
No  other  queen  or  goddess  has  achieved  her  victory 
without  losing  something  of  the  simplicity,  the  fresh 
ness  and  the  charm  of  youth.  The  hearts  of  men  are 
hers.  To  entrance  the  world,  to — 

"Stop !  Stop !"  Again  the  color  came  to  her  cheeks. 
"If  you  said  it  too  often,  I  might  believe  it,  and  then- 
adieu  to  all  simplicity." 

The  two  men  protested — each  in  his  own  manner — 
against  all  denials  of  their  sincerity. 

More  serious  conversation  followed.  Dr.  Cervini, 
after  final  instructions  for  the  patient,  departed,  the 
Diva  going  with  him  to  the  outer  door.  As  usual  at 
these  partings,  she  pressed  him  for  an  honest  opinion 


Their  Own  Affair  13 

of  the  patient's  condition.  And,  as  usual,  it  was  favor 
able. 

She  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "You  are  telling  me 
the  truth,  aren't  you,  old  friend?" 

"Yes.  On  my  honor.  In  a  fortnight  he  shall  eat 
and  drink  and  talk  in  comfort.  Believe  me.  Now, 
now !  No  tears !  I  know  what  a  strain  it  is.  You 
have  been  simply  magnificent  all  through  these  weary 
weeks.  Don't  weaken  now.  The  worst  is  over." 

"Yes,  I  will  be  brave.  But  the  hardest  of  all  is  to 
see  him  suffer.  He  never  complains.  He  tries  so 
hard,  so  hard,  to  be  cheerful!  It  seems,  at  moments, 
as  if  I  could  bear  it  no  longer." 

"Go  away  for  a  week  or  two.  I  can  bring  an  excel 
lent  nurse." 

"No,  no!     Never  that!" 

"Then  remember  the  child.  It  must  not  come  into 
the  \vorld  with  the  face  of  a  tragic  mask ;  with  weep 
ing  eyes  and  wrinkled  brow." 

She  smiled  and  promised.  But,  after  bidding  him 
a  cheerful  good-by,  and  when  the  door  had  closed, 
she  dropped  into  a  chair  and  pressed  both  hands 
against  her  face.  It  was  a  determined  effort  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  They  came,  however;  but  the  luxury 
was  brief.  With  an  air  of  somewhat  fierce  resolve  she 
arose,  stood  just  long  enough  before  a  mirror  to  dry 
her  eyes,  then,  humming  the  gayest  of  airs  from  a 
comic  opera,  she  went  out  into  the  loggia  and  rejoined 
the  sufferer. 


14  Drowsy 

Meanwhile,  Dr.  Cervini  descended  the  driveway  of 
the  villa  to  the  postroad.  There  he  stopped,  leaned 
upon  the  parapet  and  looked  down  upon  the  scene 
below  him ;  the  little  town  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and 
the  sky-blue  Adriatic. 

At  the  sound  of  an  approaching  carriage  he  turned. 
The  approaching  equipage  was  obviously  patrician.  It 
pertained  to  a  lady  of  the  High  Nobility.  Save  the 
two  men  in  livery  on  the  box  and  the  Breath  of  Scan 
dal,  this  Countess  was  traveling  alone.  She  and  the 
Breath  of  Scandal  were  boon  companions.  This  inti 
macy  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  corresponding  inti 
macy  among  common  people  where  purity  is  defiled, 
homes  ruined  and  good  names  besmeared.  With  the 
Countess  the  Breath  of  Scandal  became  a  sweet  per 
fume — wafting  around  her  person  an  intriguing  at 
mosphere  of  mystery,  romance  and  patrician  vice. 

Friendly  greetings  passed  between  the  lady  and  the 
doctor.  Then  the  lady  asked  for  information.  She 
suspected  from  something  she  had  heard  that  the  Diva 
was  in  this  vicinity. 

"Now,  tell  me,  Doctor.     \Yhere  is  she?" 

"She?     In  this  vicinity?" 

"Come  now,  I  am  not  to  be  deceived.  You  may  as 
well  tell  me  at  once.  Where  is  she?  You  are  one  of 
her  intimates  and  I  saw  you  come  down  that  avenue. 
As  the  only  truthful  man  in  Austria,  you  may  as  well 
confess  that  she  lives  at  the  end  of  it." 

The  truthful  man  raised  his  Mephistophelean  eye 
brows,  smiled  and  slowly  shook  his  head.  "Alas,  I 


Their  Own  Affair  15 

wish,  indeed,  she  were  there !  There  is  a  villa,  Coun 
tess,  but  no  Diva  in  it." 

The  lady  frowned.     "Who  then?" 

"Nobody  you  know,  or  are  likely  to  know.  The 
occupant  is  a  deservedly  prosperous  manufacturer  of 
excellent  chocolate." 

"Are  you  sure?"  In  her  manner  was  suspicion,  not 
quite  allayed. 

"Well — I  have  spent  the  last  hour  there — and  many 
previous  hours." 

"Very  likely.    But  I  don't  believe  you." 

"Am  I  a  liar?" 

"I  really  don't  know." 

"But  you  just  said  I  was  the  only  truthful  man 
in  Austria." 

"Merely  a  form  of  speech.  I  meant  relatively. 
You  might  be  the  most  truthful  man  in  Austria  and 
yet  have  no  standing  in  heaven — or  any  other  honest 
resort." 

Dr.  Cervini  smiled.  "True,  too  true!  But  who  told 
you  our  Diva  was  here  about?" 

"A  connoisseur.  A  judge  of  voices.  One  who  could 
not  be  mistaken.  He  heard  her  voice  one  evening,  here, 
along  this  road." 

"Was  he  sure  it  was  the  Diva?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Ah,  now  I  understand.  Delicious!  Really,  it's  too 
good  to  keep  to  ourselves.  If  we  could  only  inter 
view  him  together,  you  and  I !" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


1 6  Drowsy 

"I  mean  my  chocolate  king  has  a  young  daughter, 
who  sings.  And  she  sings — yes — she  sings  well.  But, 
vocally,  she  bears  about  the  same  resemblance  to  our 
Diva  as  a  guinea  chicken  to  a  skylark." 

"Could  our  connoisseur  be  quite  such  a  fool  as 
that?" 

"A  real  connoisseur  can  be  anything.  But  possibly 
he  had  dined  too  well  on  that  particular  night.  How 
ever,  even  when  sober  a  musical  critic  can —  He 
stopped  abruptly,  with  a  gesture  of  annoyance.  "Oh, 
what  a  memory!  My  humblest  apologies  to  our  con 
noisseur.  He  was  right,  absolutely  right.  He  made  no 
mistake." 

"Then  she  is  here,  after  all?" 

"No,  she  is  far  from  here.  But  I  had  entirely  for 
gotten,  for  the  moment,  that  she  passed  this  way  not 
so  long  ago.  In  the  town  below  there,  she  lingered  a 
day  or  two  on  her  way  to  France." 

"Is  she  in  France?" 

"Yes,  for  the  summer; — and  for  rest." 

"What  part  of  France?" 

"Ah,  that,  Countess,  I  must  not  tell." 

"But  I  am  one  of  her  oldest  friends!  Am  I  not 
even  to  correspond  with  her?" 

"Well,  you  know  her  one  object  in  going  there  is 
for  absolute  rest,  not  even  writing  letters.  I  see  you 
are  hurt,  dear  lady,  and  I  understand  your  feelings, 
but  I  am  sworn  to  secrecy." 

The  lady  stiffened,  and  settled  back  in  the  carriage. 
"Hurt!  I  should  say  so.  And  why  not,  pray?" 


Their  Own  Affair  17 

Dr.  Cervini  seemed  to  reflect  a  moment.  "Well, 
Countess,  will  you  give  me  your  solemn  word  of 
honor  to  guard  the  secret  if  I  tell  you?" 

"I  promise." 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  the  town  of  Tarbes?" 

"No." 

"Have  you  ever  been  to  Foix?" 

"Never  heard  of  it." 

"Well,  she  has  rented  a  little  villa  somewhere  be 
tween  those  places,  but  back  in  the  mountains." 

"What  mountains?" 

"The  Pyrenees." 

"God  protect  us!     Is  she  there?" 

"She  is.  Her  doctors  and  her  family  all  insisted 
upon  her  having  a  six  months'  rest.  And  she  needs 
it." 

"Provoking!  Most  annoying!  And  here  I  have 
had  a  long  drive  beneath  a  broiling  sun — and  all  for 
nothing." 

Dr.  Cervini  waved  a  solemn  finger.  "Don't  forget 
your  promise." 

Yes,  I  will  remember.  But,  the  young  American 
doctor  who  struck — and  then  killed  a  captain.  Where 
is  he?" 

"In  his  own  country." 

"In  America?" 

"Even  so." 

"Shameful!      Shameful!" 

"Why  shameful,  Countess?" 

"Because  I  hoped  they  were  together — as  they  should 


1 8  Drowsy 

l>e.  It's  too  delicious  a  romance  for  the  lovers  to  spoil 
by  parting." 

"Lovers!  She  hardly  knew  him.  If  a  favorite  prima 
donna  were  to  adopt  every  man  who  fell  in  love  with 
her  she  would  have  no  time  for  music.  Heavens! 
What  a  regiment  of  followers!" 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  more  serious 
manner,  "I  blush  for  the  Diva." 

"Why  blush?" 

"I  always  blush  for  virtue." 

As  the  carriage,  with  the  Countess,  escorted  by  the 
Breath  of  Scandal,  disappeared  around  a  curve  in  the 
road,  Dr.  Cervini  removed  his  hat,  looked  heavenward 
and  murmured : 

"Angels  of  mercy,  forgive  a  liar/' 

But  the  lie  did  well.  Never  again  came  the  Breath 
of  Scandal  so  near  the  Diva.  The  lovers'  secret  re 
mained  a  secret.  Even  her  father,  the  famous  scientist 
with  the  drowsy  eyes,  died  twenty  years  later  not 
knowing  that  he  had  a  grandchild. 


II 


HOW  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  BEGAN 

SEVEN  years  have  passed. 
Under  the  arching  elms  in  a  Massachusetts 
village,  one   Sunday  morning  in  July,   various 
persons  were  moving  toward  a  house  of  worship.    The 
house  of  worship  was  white,  with  a  portico  of  Ionic 
columns. 

Among  the  branches  of  the  elms  a  noisy  congrega 
tion  of  non-sectarian  birds  seemed  to  be  laughing  at 
the  Orthodox  bells. 

Dr.  Alton,  leading  his  little  son  by  the  hand,  was 
walking  beside  the  parson.  Dr.  Alton  was  but  little 
over  thirty  years  of  age.  His  son  was  nearly  seven. 
When  the  older  physician  died,  two  months  ago,  this 
younger  Dr.  Alton,  his  only  child,  had  returned  from 
Europe  and  announced  his  intention  of  continuing  his 
father's  practice.  Why  an  attractive  young  man,  shin 
ing  with  honors  from  the  medical  schools  of  Paris 

IQ 


2O  Drowsy 

and  Vienna,  should  be  willing  to  hide  his  talents  in 
a  village  like  Longfielcls  was  an  interesting  mystery. 
Some  argued  that  the  death  of  his  young  wife  had 
broken  his  heart  and  killed  ambition.  But  this  morn 
ing,  as  he  walked  to  church,  beneath  the  singing  elms, 
he  took  cheerful  notice  of  the  things  about  him.  He 
enjoyed  the  greetings  of  old  friends  of  his  boyhood. 

Some  yards  behind,  in  this  progress  toward  the 
church,  came  Mr.  and  Mrs.  David  Snell.  Mr.  Snell 
was  listening  to  the  discourse  of  his  wife.  He  listened 
with  the  patience  and  the  fortitude  attained  by  long 
experience  and  by  force  of  will.  His  beard  was  gray, 
his  eyes  were  blue,  his  shoulders  narrow  and  his  figure 
slight.  Also,  he  had  a  gentle  voice  and  gentle  man- 
ers.  But  it  was  known  among  his  friends  that  this 
gentleness  was  by  no  means  a  manifestation  of  any 
inward  weakness.  While  patient  and  much  enduring, 
there  were  times  when  he  became  more  determined, 
more  "cantankerously  sot"  and  unchangeable  than  the 
movements  of  the  planets.  Deacon  Babbit  once  said, 
"Compared  with  David  when  he  gets  his  dander  up 
the  Rock  of  Ages  is  a  weather-cock.  The  only  safe 
thing  to  do  is  to  stand  from  under  and  let  him  be." 
But  these  transformations  were  rare,  and  often  for 
gotten. 

"I  don't  care,"  Mrs.  Snell  was  saying,  "people  have 
a  right  to  gossip  when  a  handsome  young  man  comes 
home  from  Europe  with  a  child  like  that  and  re 
fuses  to  open  his  mouth  about  its  mother.  I  don't 
believe  it  had  a  mother." 


How  the  Acquaintance  Began      21 

"P'r'aps  not.  P'r'aps  it  grew  on  a  pumpkin  tree  and 
the  doctor  jest  picked  it." 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  David.  We  never  heard 
of  his  being  married  durin'  those  six  years  he  was  over 
there — over  there  studyin'  medicine.  Studyin'  medi 
cine!  I  guess  he  studied  a  good  many  things  besides 
medicine." 

"Been  a  fool  if  he  hadn't.  Medicine  ain't  the  only 
interestin'  thing  in  this  world." 

"Don't  be  coarse,  David,  and  excusing  vice.  You 
know  very  well  he  should  not  deceive  people  about 
it." 

"How  has  he  deceived  anybody?" 

"By  saying  he  was  married  to  this  boy's  mother — 
and  she  died." 

"Well,  ain't  it  true?" 

"No." 

"How  do  you  know  it  ain't?" 

"Because  if  it  was  true  he  wouldn't  be  so  secretive 
about  it.  There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  marry 
ing  an  honest  woman  and  having  a  child." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Snell.  "Nuthin'  specially  surprisin' 
about  that.  Good  folks  have  done  it." 

"Then  why  be  hiding  something?  All  his  old 
friends  are  naturally  interested  in  his  wife  and  he'd 
naturally  tell  us — unless  there  was  something  he  was 
ashamed  of." 

"Ashamed  of?  Well,  Rebecca,  you  certainly  can 
talk  like  a  fool  when  you  put  your  mind  on  it." 

Mrs.  Snell  flushed.      "Really!      Indeed!      So  you 


22  Drowsy 

think  it's  perfectly  natural  for  a  man  to  hide  from 
his  old  friends  all  knowledge  of  his  marriage — as  he 
would  a  murder?" 

"Yes,  if  he  wants  to." 

"Well,  I  don't.  And  that's  the  difference.  And 
we'll  see  what  other  people  in  this  village  are  going 
to  think  about  it." 

Mr.  Snell  stopped,  laid  a  hand  on  his  wife's  arm 
and  wheeled  her  about.  He  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  but 
his  words  were  metallic  in  their  clearness.  "Now  look 
here,  Rebecca  Snell,  you  jest  go  slow  on  startin'  that 
kind  of  talk.  Dr.  Alton's  a  good  man.  We  are  mighty 
lucky  to  have  him  in  the  old  doctor's  shoes.  Long- 
fields  is  a  mighty  small  village  for  a  man  with  such 
an  education  as  he's  got.  And  if  it  ever  got  to  his 
ears  that  you'd  been  insultin'  his  dead  wife's  memory 
—well — you'll  get  jest  exactly  what  you  deserve,  and 
I'll  help  give  it  to  yer.  1  mean  it.  Now  shut  up." 

Mrs.  Snell  glanced  at  the  light  blue  angry  eyes  now 
looking  steadily  into  her  own.  Between  those  eyes  and 
her  own  face,  a  long  and  bony  finger,  quivering  with 
anger,  was  moving  slowly,  to  and  fro.  It  came  very 
near  her  face.  She  blinked,  tightened  her  lips  and 
took  a  backward  step.  Then  her  husband,  in  a  low 
voice,  husky  with  rage,  the  vibrating  finger  almost 
touching  her  nose,  spoke  once  more. 

"And  you  stay  shut  up !" 

After  a  pause,  just  long  enough  for  his  message  to 
be  acknowledged  by  a  nod  of  obedience  he  started  on 
toward  the  church. 


How  the  Acquaintance  Began      23 

Airs.  Snell  followed  after. 

In  that  congregation  were  persons  who  came  to  wor 
ship  their  Creator — the  ostensible  purpose  of  the  gath 
ering.  Miss  Susan  Pendexter,  on  the  other  hand,  a 
somewhat  emotional  spinster,  came  to  worship  the 
preacher,  Rev.  George  Bentley  Heywood.  She  was 
thrilled  by  the  originality,  the  power  and  the  beauty 
of  the  sermon  which  to  his  own  wife  seemed,  as 
usual,  prosy  and  commonplace.  Many  were  present 
because  afraid  to  stay  away.  Among  these  were  the 
young  men.  Children,  of  course,  were  present  under 
compulsion,  accepting  the  sermon  as  a  punishment. 

No  gathering  could  be  more  democratic.  These  de 
scendants  of  the  Pilgrims  were  not  encumbered  by 
class  distinctions.  Judge  Dean,  for  instance,  the  most 
influential  citizen  of  the  village,  would  never  presume 
to  patronize  either  Abner  Phillips,  the  harness  maker 
or  Elisha  Bisbee,  the  blacksmith.  Uncle  Hector,  who 
kept  the  store,  would  have  snubbed  all  the  reigning 
monarchs  of  the  earth  had  he  suspected  them  of  will 
ful  condescension.  The  somewhat  restless  man  in  a 
side  pew,  he  whose  stiff  hair  stands  straight  on  end, 
wrho  snuffs  and  clears  his  throat  and  looks  pleasantly 
around  the  church,  is  Lemuel  Cobb,  the  stage  driver. 
He  is  a  descendant  of  a  famous  Governor  of  Plymouth 
Colony  and  has  a  brother  who  is  now  President  of 
a  Western  College.  And  the  two  Allen  "girls,"  Nance 
and  Fidelia — now  over  sixty — have  one  of  the  best 
pews  in  Church.  The  fact  of  their  being  largely  de- 
pc-ndent  for  food  and  clothing,  rent  and  fuel,  on  the 


24  Drowsy 

bounty  of  their  neighbors,  lessens  in  no  degree  the 
courtesy  they  receive. 

It  was  natural  that  Dr.  Alton  and  his  son,  this  morn 
ing,  should  be  objects  of  lively  interest.  This  in 
terest  was  all  the  greater  from  certain  unexplained 
events  in  Europe  kindly  referred  to  by  Mrs.  Snell. 
But  other  persons  were  less  suspicious  than  this  lady. 
Nearly  all  the  members  of  the  congregation — and  of 
the  township  for  that  matter — were  old  friends  of 
this  Dr.  Alton's  father.  Few  among  those  here  pres 
ent  failed  to  recall,  with  gratitude  and  affection,  the 
dead  physician.  The  older  members  he  had  either  sus 
tained  in  sickness  or  had  postponed  their  departure  to 
realms  above.  The  younger  ones  he  had  ably  assisted 
into  our  merry  world.  This  younger  Dr.  Alton,  now 
present,  bore  some  resemblance  to  his  father.  He  had 
a  good  expression  and  a  pleasant  smile,  but  he  was, 
of  course,  too  young  to  carry  those  deeper  lines  of 
study,  of  work  and  kindly  deeds  that  marked  his 
father's  face. 

So  high  were  the  backs  of  the  pews  that  the  smaller 
children  were  almost  invisible.  Only  the  tops  of  their 
heads  were  in  sight.  But  Dr.  Alton's  son,  for  a  wider 
knowledge  of  this  new  world,  folded  his  short  legs 
beneath  him  and  sat  upon  his  heels.  This  was  wel 
comed — in  silence — by  many  persons  in  the  congrega 
tions.  They  could  now  satisfy  their  curiosity  as  to 
his  appearance.  And  the  face  was  disappointing. 
His  eyes,  as  they  moved  in  a  drowsy  way  over  the 
faces  about  him,  seemed  dull  and  almost  stupid.  They 


How  the  Acquaintance  Began      25 

seemed  half  closed  by  heavy  lids.  And  his  short, 
cherubic  mouth  might  indicate  a  want  of  decision.  His 
hair,  short,  thick  and  dark  grew  in  a  straight  line 
across  his  forehead.  Altogether,  with  his  stiff  hair, 
plump  cheeks,  short  neck  and  placid  manner,  he  seemed 
a  different  type  from  the  little  Yankee  boys  of  Long- 
fields. 

Mrs.  Waldo  Bennett,  the  tall,  straight  woman  with 
startled  eyebrows,  said  to  herself,  as  she  watched  his 
slow  moving  eyes,  studying  in  mild  surprise  the  church 
and  the  people  about  him,  "That  little  heathen  was 
never  in  a  house  of  God  before."  But  she  was  wrong. 
This  was,  to  be  sure,  his  first  experience  in  a  New  Eng 
land  church,  but  he  had  been  in  cathedrals.  And  he 
was  surprised  at  the  difference  in  size  between  this 
cathedral  and  those  at  Milan  and  Canterbury.  Lei 
surely,  and  with  no  embarrassment  or  self-conscious 
ness,  his  eyes  wandered  slowly  over  various  persons 
who  were  watching  him.  But  when  his  eyes  en 
countered  Mrs.  Snell  they  opened  a  trifle  wider.  There, 
in  surprise,  they  rested  for  a  moment.  For  in  this 
lady's  face  he  found,  not  the  amiable  curiosity  of  his 
grandfather's  grateful  friends,  but  a  pious  disap 
proval  of  his  very  existence.  Almost  threatening  was 
her  look  of  hostility,  of  reprobation  and  contempt. 
There  was  censure  in  it,  and  condemnation.  She  was 
studying  him  as  one  of  the  Higher  Angels  might  study 
the  meanest  imp  of  Satan.  For  Mrs.  Snell,  while  not 
impervious  to  the  consolations  of  religion,  found  more 
solace,  just  at  present,  in  believing  Dr.  Alton  a  special 


26  Drowsy 

envoy  from  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  As  for  the  boy, 
she  detected,  in  his  evil  eyes  and  voluptuous  mouth,  an 
agent  of  the  devil  for  the  future  debauchery  of  Long- 
fields.  She  was  not  especially  prophetic  in  other  mat 
ters  but,  for  this  boy,  she  predicted  an  unspeakable 
career. 

And  the  boy,  while  unable  to  divine  all  her  thoughts 
or  to  realize  this  blighting  forecast,  did  not  fail  to 
catch  the  general  message.  For  a  moment  he  returned 
her  gaze,  calmly  and  undisturbed ;  then  as  calmly 
looked  away.  He  was  seeking  refuge  in  the  thought 
that  perhaps  she  hated  all  other  boys  just  as  much. 
Perhaps  the  women  in  this  new  country  were  fiercer 
than  those  in  Europe. 

The  very  next  minute,  however,  something  hap 
pened — something  so  much  more  thrilling  that  he 
forgot  completely  the  square  jawed,  ominous  woman. 
As  he  looked  away  from  her  hostile  glare  he  en 
countered  the  eyes  of  the  parson's  daughter.  And 
such  eyes!  How  different  from  Mrs.  Snell's!  These 
eyes  were  the  two  most  astonishing  things  he  had  ever 
seen.  They  were  not  far  away — in  a  pew  at  right 
angles  to  his  own — and  they  were  looking  straight 
at  him !  They  had  thick,  dark  lashes.  They,  also, 
were  severe,  but  in  a  different  way  from  Mrs.  Snell's. 
They  certainly  were  frowning  at  him.  From  Mrs. 
Snell's  eyes  he  felt  like  running  away — for  safety. 
These  other  eyes  seemed  more  surprised  than  angry— 
as  if  demanding  an  apology  for  something.  Although 
but  six  years  old  they  were  remarkably  effective  for 


How  the  Acquaintance  Began      27 

weapons  \vith  so  little  experience.  Not  that  she  was 
a  flirt  at  that  age :  she  was  nothing  more  than  a  rather 
willful  little  girl,  already  somewhat  spoiled :  one  of 
those  clever  females  intended  by  nature  to  succeed, 
from  the  cradle  up,  in  getting  whatever  they  desire. 

The  boy's  eyebrows  went  up  and  he  smiled,  involun 
tarily,  in  spite  of  her  frown,  and  his  slumbrous  eye 
lids  opened  a  little  wider.  He  enjoyed  beautiful 
things,  in  whatever  form,  and  those  eyes,  whether  hos 
tile  or  friendly,  were  wondrous  things.  Then,  when 
he  had  just  begun  to  stare  at  them,  comfortably,  came 
one  of  the  surprises  of  his  life.  It  was  more  than 
a  surprise  :  it  was  a  blow,  a  shock,  a  humiliation.  For, 
this  girl,  with  no  warning,  made  a  face  at  him!  She 
wrinkled  up  her  nose,  slightly  raised  her  chin  and 
stuck  out  her  tongue.  And,  while  he  gazed  in  won 
der,  she  unfolded  the  legs  upon  which  she  was  ele 
vated  and  sank  from  his  vision  like  a  mermaid  be 
neath  the  wraves.  He  was  more  astonished  than  angry. 
That  such  an  affront,  so  undeserved,  so  undignified 
and  so  insulting  should  come  from  so  angelic  a  face 
was  something  new  in  his  experience.  In  his  desire 
to  see  more  of  this  novelty  he  forgot  his  surroundings, 
and  to  the  surprise  of  neighboring  worshipers,  and 
before  his  father  could  stop  him,  he  clambered  to  his 
feet  and  stood  up  on  the  seat  of  the  pew. 

Accelerated  by  his  father's  hand  and  by  a  whis 
pered  word,  he  came  down  to  his  proper  level.  But 
Mrs.  Snell  had  seen  the  act.  It  strengthened  her  con 
viction  that  this  future  corrupter  of  youth  had  no 


28  Drowsy 

respect  for  the  House  of  God,  and  was  already  dead 
to  any  religious  influence.  For  a  time  the  Corrupter 
of  Youth  kept  his  eyes  on  the  place  where  the  eyes 
had  vanished;  but  in  vain.  They  seemed  to  have 
disappeared  forever.  So,  being  a  boy,  he  found  in 
terest  in  other  things. 

The  tall  windows  of  the  church  were  open  at  the 
top,  and  those  members  of  the  congregation,  not  en 
thralled  by  the  sermon,  could  see  snowy  clouds  drift 
ing  idly  across  a  bright  blue  sky.  Through  these  open 
windows  came  the  song  of  birds; — voices  of  the 
heathen  birds  already  mentioned;  good  singers  but 
with  little  reverence  for  the  Gospel  Word.  To  the 
Corrupter  of  Youth,  also,  the  Gospel  Word  had  little 
interest.  He  was  looking  up,  through  the  open  win 
dows,  at  the  floating  clouds,  the  swallows  and  the 
white  pigeons.  One  swallow,  less  discerning  than  his 
friends,  flew  into  the  church  and  fluttered  about  be 
fore  escaping.  He  was  followed,  with  envious  eyes, 
by  the  Corrupter  of  Youth,  who  decided  there  and 
then — a  decision  often  made  before — that  when  he 
grew  to  be  a  man,  and  could  do  as  he  pleased,  he  also 
would  fly : — up  from  the  earth,  high  up  into  the  clouds 
like  a  bird! 

Perhaps  it  was  the  warm  day  and  the  preacher's 
voice,  but  after  a  while  he  began  to  feel  sleepy.  And, 
anyway,  why  should  a  bird  be  so  much  better  off  than 
men  and  other  animals?  Why  stick  so  tight  to  the 
ground?  It  didn't  seem  fair.  Why  should  a  hen — 
just  a  hen — have  wings  and  not  a  boy?  If  he  him- 


"UK.ACKFULI.Y    HK   I  LOA TKI)   OVER   THKIR    HEADS"  —  Rigt 


How  the  Acquaintance  Began      29 

self  had  wings — my  gracious! — he  would  rise  and  sail 
up  through  the  open  window,  up  and  far  away  above 
the  clouds,  into  the  blue  sky  itself!  Among  the  gods 
and  angels  he  would  float  around.  And  just  to  show 
what  he  could  do,  he  would  astonish  them  with  ex 
traordinary  evolutions.  For  speed,  originality  and 
distance,  his  flights,  with  curves  and  sudden  stops, 
would  startle  even  sparrows  themselves.  There  was 
pleasure,  too,  in  swooping  down,  and  showing  his  con 
tempt  for  these  heavy,  easily  satisfied  persons  all  hud 
dled  together  between  the  bare  walls  of  this  foolish 
little  Longfields  cathedral.  Darting  downwards,  but  in 
easy  curves,  to  the  very  window  through  which  he 
had  been  looking  up  and  out,  he  now  looked  down  and 
in.  Hovering  at  the  open  window,  his  body  without, 
his  head  within,  he  frowned  upon  the  upturned,  star 
tled  faces  of  the  earth-bound  congregation.  Then  he 
entered.  Gracefully  he  floated  over  their  heads.  For 
a  moment  he  hovered  over  Mrs.  Snell,  who  uttered 
a  loud  scream,  then  fell  dead  from  terror.  Next,  above 
the  girl  with  the  wonderful  eyes  he  moved  slowly 
to  and  fro,  as  fishes  move  in  water.  This  just  to 
show  her  what  kind  of  a  floating  boy  he  was.  De 
scending  a  little,  until  his  face  was  close  to  hers,  he 
looked  straight  into  her  startled  eyes  and  wiggled  his 
nose  like  a  rabbit.  And  it  frightened  her  almost  to 
death ! 

'Twas  a  great  thought ! 

He  smiled  as  he  reveled  in  it.  But  there  are  dreams 
loo  beautiful  to  be  true.  And  when,  at  last,  his  soul 


30  Drowsy 

rejoined  his  body  he  saw  the  preacher  had  folded  his 
hands  upon  the  Bible  in  front  of  him,  and  was  pray 
ing.  The  members  of  the  congregation,  with  bowed 
heads,  were  listening  in  solemn  silence.  Then  the 
dreamer,  now  wide  awake,  slid  from  his  seat,  stood 
up,  put  his  mouth  to  his  parent's  ear  and  whispered : 

"Father,  quick !  His  eyes  are  shut.  Let's  get 
away!" 

Parents  can  be  dull.  On  this  occasion  his  father 
certainly  missed  a  golden  opportunity.  He  merely 
shook  his  head  and  failed  to  act. 

However,  the  weary  service  was  almost  over.  The 
prayer  ended;  the  congregation  stood  up  and  joined  in 
the  final  hymn.  The  dreamer  also  stood  up.  Also,  he 
opened  his  cherubic  mouth,  and  sang.  The  words 
he  knew  not,  but  he  sang  without  them.  His  unfa 
miliar  voice  surprised  Miss  Martha  Lincoln,  a  middle- 
aged  maiden  just  in  front  of  him.  Twice  a  week  she 
gave  music  lessons  in  Worcester.  Now,  involuntarily 
she  looked  behind.  Her  surprise  was  great  when  she 
discovered  the  performer  to  be  a  small  boy  whose 
diminutive  mouth  could  hardly  open  wide  enough  to 
put  forth  the  music  that  was  in  him.  Clearly  this 
courageous  singer  possessed  an  ear  and  a  sense  of 
harmony  that  were  a  part  of  himself,  and  not  ac 
quired. 

At  last,  the  benediction  finished,  the  people  came 
slowly  out  of  the  pews  into  the  aisle,  and  moved  t>  - 
ward  the  open  doors.  Greetings  occurred  between 
people  who  lived  miles  apart  and  seldom  met,  except  on 


How  the  Acquaintance  Began      31 

Sundays.  The  boy  stuck  close  to  his  father.  One  of 
his  hands  kept  a  tight  grip  on  Dr.  Alton's  coat.  As 
the  top  of  his  head  was  not  above  the  waists  of  peo 
ple  about  him  he  received  little  attention.  Many  per 
sons  overlooked  him.  But  just  before  reaching  the 
vestibule  he  heard  a  voice  close  to  his  ear,  on  his  own 
level.  It  said,  distinctly,  but  in  a  tone  too  low  for 
the  taller  people  to  hear : 

"How  do  you  do,  little  stupid?" 

He  turned.  There  was  the  girl  with  the  wondrous 
eyes !  But  now  the  eyes  glistened  with  malicious 
triumph.  For  an  instant  he  was  too  surprised,  too 
disconcerted,  to  grasp  the  situation.  Like  a  ship  that 
receives  a  raking  broadside  from  an  unexpected  quar 
ter  and  reels  beneath  the  shock,  but  recovers  and  pre 
pares  for  action,  so  Cyrus  Alton  pulled  himself  to- 
gather,  blinked  and  faced  the  foe.  Then  it  was  that 
the  maiden  herself  received  a  shock.  For  this  boy, 
instead  of  "sassing  back"  as  she  expected,  inclined  his 
head  and  body  in  a  ceremonious  bow — as  elaborate 
as  the  skirts  and  legs  of  the  surrounding  grown-ups 
permitted,  and  inquired  politely : 

"\\'hy  do  you  say  that?" 

So  surprised  was  the  girl,  so  startled  by  this  un 
precedented,  this  unheard  of  politeness  in  a  human 
boy,  that  her  expression  swiftly  changed  to  one  of 
comic  dismay.  She  was  dumb.  The  miracle  stupefied 
her.  In  their  wonderment  the  beautiful  eyes  became 
yet  larger  and  more  beautiful.  But  the  lips  were 


32  Drowsy 

speechless.     Then,  once  again  she  vanished,  this  time 
behind  her  mother's  skirt. 

And  that  is  how  the  acquaintance  began  between 
Cyrus  Alton  and  Ruth  Heywood. 


Ill 

UNCLE  HECTOR'S  VERDICT 

IT  so  happened  a  few  days  later  that  this  acquaint 
ance  was  renewed.     Cyrus,  sitting  on  the  door 
step  of  a  house  in  the  village,   waited    for  his 
father,  who  was  visiting  a  patient  within. 

Two  little  girls  came  along,  arm   in  arm.     They 
stopped  in  front  of  him. 

One  of  them  said  :  "A  new  boy." 
The  other  said  :  "Isn't  he  funny !" 
In  one  of  these  persons  Cyrus  recognized  the  girl 
who  made  faces  at  him  in  church.  As  they  stood  smil 
ing,  brimming  over  with  mischief,  he  arose,  lifted  his 
hat  and  made  a  sweeping  bow,  as  d'Artagnan  might 
have  saluted  Anne  of  Austria.  It  was  so  well  done, 
with  so  much  grace  and  solemnity,  that  the  two  girls 
were  startled.  Things  of  that  sort  had  never  occurred 
in  Longfields.  The  girls  giggled.  They  believed  he 
was  "showing  off"  to  amuse  them.  But  he  was  not 

33 


34  Drowsy 

showing  off.  It  was  merely  his  usual  manner  of  salut 
ing  ladies.  When  the  hat  was  again  on  his  head,  he 
looked  calmly  at  the  girl  with  the  eyes  and  inquired : 

"Why  did-  you  call  me  stupid?" 

For  an  instant  she  was  taken  aback.  Then  with  a 
smile  of  defiance : 

"Because  you  look  stupid." 

"But  I  am  not." 

"Well  you  look  so,  anyway ;  doesn't  he,  Martha?" 

Martha  nodded  and  giggled  endorsement.  But  Ruth 
Hey  wood  herself  stopped  giggling,  and  said  more 
seriously : 

"It's  your  eyes  that  are  funny.  They  are  half  awake. 
They  are  so  drowsy  they  make  me  sleepy  to  look  at 
them.  Can't  you  open  them  wider?" 

Cyrus  made  no  answer  because  he  could  think  of 
nothing  to  say.  But  as  the  heavy  lidded  eyes  looked 
into  Ruth  Heywood's,  with  their  supernatural  tran 
quillity,  it  seemed  to  the  maiden  as  if  the  accumulated 
wisdom  of  mankind  was  rebuking  and  despising  her. 
The  same  expression  came  into  her  face  that  came 
there  in  church ;  a  rapid  change  from  bantering  gayety 
to  doubt  and  misgiving.  But  she  wheeled  about,  with 
an  air  of  indifference,  and  walked  away,  leading  the 
devoted  Martha.  A  little  way  off  she  turned  her  head 
and  called  to  him  : 

"Good-by,  Drowsy!" 

With  that  they  both  scampered  away  as  fast  as  they 
could  run. 

After  this  interview  the  acquaintance  marched — or 


Uncle  Hector's  Verdict  35 

rather  jumped  ahead — with  all  the  velocity  of  youth. 
Cyrus  passed  her  house  every  time  he  went  to  the  vil 
lage  and  interviews  were  frequent.  All  discourtesy 
in  their  first  meetings  was  forgiven — and  forgotten. 
To  his  ceremonious  salutations,  with  their  astonishing 
bows,  Ruth  Hey  wood  soon  became  accustomed.  Also, 
she  ceased  being  impressed  by  his  judicial  gaze,  for  she 
soon  learned  that  the  heavy  lidded  eyes  concealed 
neither  disdain  nor  supernatural  wisdom.  She  dis 
covered,  in  short,  that  he  was  just  a  boy.  But  he 
proved  neither  sleepy  nor  stupid. 

Certain  traits,  however,  quite  at  variance  with  those 
in  other  children  of  her  own  age,  made  him  an  object 
of  her  special  concern.  She  began  to  regard  him  as 
her  own  personal  property,  something  to  be  watched 
over,  guided  and  protected.  Although  she  had  known 
but  six  years  of  terrestrial  life,  some  feminine, 
kindly  instinct  was  already  prompting  her  to  be  mother 
and  grandmother  to  him,  also  aunt  and  sister  and  all 
the  female  blessings  that  he  missed  at  home.  He  was, 
to  l)e  sure,  just  about  her  own  age,  but  he  was  shorter 
and  less  assertive.  And  there  certainly  is — at  times — 
a  distinct  advantage  in  being  able  to  look  down  upon 
the  person  you  are  trying  to  impress. 

When  Ruth  wanted  a  thing  she  wanted  it  very  much, 
and  at  once.  With  strangers  she  always  got  it.  Her 
beauty,  combined  with  her  manner — when  she  chose — 
were  irresistible,  it  appeared,  to  all  human  males  be 
tween  the  ages  of  ten  and  one  hundred.  She  could 
smile  the  smile  that  routed  reason  and  paralyzed  all 


Drowsy 

powers  of  resistance.  This  smile,  as  she  grew  older, 
with  the  sensitive  mouth  and  conquering  eyes,  never 
lost  its  charm.  And  the  unsuspecting  Cyrus  was  either 
brave  or  timid,  patient  or  angry,  happy  or  unhappy, 
at  the  witch's  will. 

Moreover,  his  mental  processes  were  quite  different 
from  those  of  Ruth.  He  was  slower  in  reaching  con 
clusions.  Her  own  swift  decisions  amazed  him.  She 
dazzled  him  at  times,  by  a  mysterious  intuitive  agency 
whose  lightning  turns  he  did  not  pretend  to  follow. 

Cyrus,  more  than  other  boys,  was  a  lover  of  beauti 
ful  things.  Flowers,  pictures,  music,  color,  all  gave  him 
pleasure.  In  the  presence  of  an  American  sunset  he 
would  sit  in  solemn  adoration.  To  this  lover  of  beau 
tiful  things  Ruth's  eyes  were  as  windows  of  heaven. 
Into  them  he  could  look  and  wonder;  quit  the  earth 
and  imagine  all  things.  They  soothed  and  stirred  his 
fancy  like  summer  skies  and  solemn  woods — or  flowers 
and  thunderstorms.  And  when  they  rested  on  him,  in 
reproach,  they  filled  him  with  delectable  guilt. 

Ruth  and  Truth  were  one  and  inseparable.  Truth 
was  part  of  herself.  Truth  and  Cyrus,  on  the  other 
hand,  sometimes  parted  company.  And  they  parted 
easily.  Truth  was  a  good  thing — he  knew  that.  But 
there  seemed  to  be  occasions  when  Truth  and  Wisdom 
did  not  pull  together;  when  the  immediate  results  were 
disastrous.  When  those  moments  came  he  preferred 
the  exercise  of  his  own  wits :  the  triumphs  of  his  own 
invention.  And  his  invention  was  rich  and  ready. 

On  one  occasion,  when  rebuked  by  his  father  for 


Uncle  Hector's  Verdict  37 

telling  a  lie.  he  replied,  after  a  moment's  thought,  and 
with  earnest  conviction : 

"I  don't  see  any  fun  in  telling  the  truth  all  the  time. 
Anybody  can  do  it." 

However,  aside  from  this  little  matter  of  despising 
Truth,  he  was  a  reliable  boy.  He  kept  his  promises. 
And  it  should  be  said  in  justice  that,  while  an  easy  and 
successful  liar,  his  mind  was  open  to  reason  and  he 
could  be  made  to  realize  the  sin  and  folly  of  his  ways. 
His  interview  with  Uncle  Hector,  for  instance,  showed 
a  willingness  to  see  the  light. 

Uncle  Hector  kept  the  store.  He  was  seventy-five 
years  old,  tall,  very  erect,  wore  a  green  wig  and  was 
a  bachelor.  The  wig  was  not  really  green,  but  certain 
tints  of  its  original  golden  brown  had  changed,  in  the 
passing  years,  to  a  peculiar  greenish  yellow.  His  OWTI 
original  virtues,  however,  had  not  deteriorated.  He 
was  honest  and  true.  Everybody  liked  him,  and  all 
the  children  called  him  Uncle.  He  wore  dark  clothes, 
and  a  stiff,  old  fashioned  collar — a  sort  of  dickey — 
for  he  had  a  hired  man  to  do  the  rough  work  about 
the  place. 

Toward  noon,  one  February  day,  Cyrus  and  Ruth 
entered  the  store.  Uncle  Hector  was  off  at  the  further 
end  talking  with  a  customer : — Mrs.  Bennett.  Nobody 
else  was  there.  While  waiting  for  Mrs.  Bennett  to 
finish  her  business  Cyrus  and  Ruth  admired,  as  usual, 
the  wonders  about  them,  and  inhaled  the  intoxicating 
air:  an  air  heavy  laden  with  odors  of  molasses  and 
vinegar,  of  coffee,  calico  and  oranges,  of  the  spices 


38  Drowsy 

of  Ara1)y  and  the  rubber  boots  of  New  England.  On 
the  top  of  the  counter,  which  was  on  a  level  with  the 
nose  of  Cyrus,  lay  a  dollar  bill.  Cyrus  saw  it,  and  by 
standing  on  his  toes  he  could  reach  over  and  take  it— 
which  he  did.  He  held  it  in  the  ringers  of  both  hands 
and  drank  in  its  beauties.  Then  he  held  it  closer  to 
Ruth's  face,  that  she,  too,  might  admire  it. 

"Just  think  !"  he  said.  "A  dollar  is  a  hundred  cents ; 
we  can  buy  a  hundred  sticks  of  that  candy  you  like !" 

Ruth  had  doubts  of  his  ownership.  Yet  she  con 
sidered  the  discoverer's  feelings. 

"But,  Cyrus,  it  isn't  yours." 

"Yes  it  is!" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"Yes.     Findin's  is  keepin's." 

Ruth  had  never  heard  this  principle  before,  but  she 
accepted  it  because  it  came  from  Cyrus.  And  Cyrus, 
this  fortune  in  his  fingers,  felt  as  all  men  feel  when 
raised,  without  warning,  from  poverty  to  wealth. 

Mrs.  Bennett  departed  and  at  last  Uncle  Hector  tow 
ered  behind  the  counter  smiling  down  upon  the  two 
upturned,  excited  faces. 

Well,  Miss  Ruth  Hey  wood,  and  Mr.  Cyrus  Alton, 
what  can  I  do  for  you  this  morning?" 

Again  Cyrus  raised  himself  upon  his  toes,  pushed  the 
dollar  bill  as  far  over  on  the  counter  as  he  could  reach, 
and  exclaimed : 

"A  whole  dollar's  worth  of  that  red  candy  with  the 
white  stripes!" 


Uncle  Hector's  Verdict  39 

Uncle  Hector's  genial  smile  gave  way,  for  a  mo 
ment,  to  an  expression  of  surprise. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  money,  Cyrus?" 

"Father  gave  it  to  me." 

"Oh,  Cyrus !"  exclaimed  Ruth. 

The  liar  turned  and  looked  at  Ruth,  not  in  anger  at 
being  exposed,  but  in  a  sort  of  calm  amazement  that 
so  sensible  a  girl  should  ruin  so  good  a  plan.  Ruth, 
however,  was  not  the  person  to  compromise  with  sin. 

"Cyrus  Alton!    How  can  you  say  such  a  thing?" 

Kindly  but  sadly  Uncle  Hector  looked  down  upon 
the  boy. 

"Tell  the  truth,  Cyrus." 

Cyrus,  unabashed,  met  Uncle  Hector's  reproving 
gaze.  He  even  smiled,  as  any  honest  man  might  smile, 
to  show  his  spirit  was  above  defeat. 

"I  found  it  just  now,  right  here  on  this  counter." 

Uncle  Hector's  face  was  still  serious.  "Are  you 
sure  it's  your  dollar?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Findin's  is  keepin's." 

Uncle  Hector  stroked  his  chin  and  twisted  his 
mouth,  as  if  wondering  how  to  answer.  "Well — er — 
if  you  should  take  one  of  those  oranges  and  refuse  to 
pay  for  it,  and  just  walk  away  with  it  and  say  'find- 
in's  is  keepin's' — would  that  be  all  right?" 

"No,  sir,  because  I  know  they  are  for  sale.  This 
dollar  wasn't." 

Again  Uncle  Hector  stroked  his  chain  and  twisted 
his  mouth.  And  Cyrus  smiled  up  at  him,  the  smile 
of  triumph.  It  was  obvious,  even  to  Ruth,  that  this 


4O  Drowsy 

opening  skirmish  was  a  victory  for  Cyrus.  She  also 
smiled  up  at  Uncle  Hector  and  nodded,  signifying  that 
her  escort  was  an  able  person. 

But  Uncle  Hector  was  not  vanquished.  He  laid  the 
dollar  on  the  counter,  off  near  Cyrus'  face,  to  make 
it  clear  there  was  no  forcible  retention  of  doubtful 
property — that  justice  should  be  rendered  to  the 
smallest  boy  as  fairly  as  to  the  biggest  man.  Then  he 
straightened  up,  pushed  back  his  coat  and  inserted  his 
thumbs  in  the  arm  holes  of  his  vest.  And  there  was 
something  in  his  smile  and  in  his  confident  manner 
that  caused  uneasiness  in  Ruth. 

"If  I  should  go  to  your  house,  Cyrus,  and  carry  off 
a  handsome  sled  with  the  name  Hiawatha  on  it  in  blue 
letters,  refuse  to  give  it  back,  and  say  'findin's  is  keep 
ing' — would  that  be  all  right?" 

"No,  sir,  because  you  know  it's  my  sled,  and  there's 
no  other  like  it." 

Again  was  Uncle  Hector  taken  by  surprise,  and  in 
his  face  the  two  children  saw  signs  of  the  hesitation 
which  often  leads  to  defeat.  Ruth's  faith  in  Cyrus 
rose  yet  higher.  As  she  smiled  at  the  tall  figure  be 
hind  the  counter  her  expression  said  as  plainly  as 
words,  "Nobody  can  get  ahead  of  Cyrus." 

But  Uncle  Hector,  while  not  prepared  for  such  an 
answer  to  his  question,  even  now  was  unconquered. 
"Cyrus,"  he  said,  "you'll  make  a  great  lawyer  some 
day.  You  are  mighty  good  at  an  argument.  But 
suppose  a  stranger  took  that  sled,  and  when  you  ran 
after  him  and  told  it  was  yours,  he  should  say  'findin's 


Uncle  Hector's  Verdict  41 

is  keepinV  and  refuse  to  give  it  up.  Would  that  be 
all  right?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  had  told  him  it  was  mine." 

"Well,  now,  Mrs.  Bennett  bought  seventy  cents 
worth  of  tea  and  sewing  silk  just  before  you  and 
Ruth  came  in.  She  laid  a  dollar  bill  on  the  counter 
and  I  gave  her  the  change — thirty  cents.  Then  we 
went  away  for  a  minute  to  the  back  of  the  store  and 
left  it  lying  here.  When  I  came  back  I  found  you 
claimed  it,  saying  'findin's  is  keepin's.'  So,  if  you  keep 
it,  I  lose  seventy  cents'  worth  of  tea  and  sewing  silk 
and  thirty  cents  in  cash." 

Cyrus  frowned,  and  looked  sidewise  at  the  bill.  Ruth 
also  frowned.  As  she  looked  up  at  the  jar  that  held 
the  striped  candy  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  Uncle  Hector 
smiled  pleasantly  upon  the  two  troubled  faces  and  in 
quired  in  his  gentlest  manner  : 

"Now,  Cyrus,  just  as  man  to  man,  whose  bill  do 
you  think  it  is?" 

Cyrus  worked  his  lips,  and  looked  away.  He 
stood  firm  on  his  legs,  but  inwardly  he  staggered 
beneath  the  blow.  It  was  a  whole  dollar,  and  gone — 
gone  forever,  before  he  could  spend  it!  He  might 
never  have  another.  Full  grown  men  have  been  known 
to  collapse  under  sudden  loss  of  fortune.  He  dared 
not  look  at  Ruth.  It  might  unnerve  him  for  the  sac 
rifice.  With  tightened  lips  and  blinking  eyes  he 
reached  up  over  the  counter  and  silently  pushed  the 


42  Drowsy 

bill  away,  as  far  toward  the  new  owner  as  his  short 
arm  could  do  it. 

"Thank  you,  Cyrus,"  said  Uncle  Hector.  "I  knew  I 
was  dealing  with  a  man  who  would  do  the  right  thing 
when  he  saw  it.  And  now,  let's  have  some  candy  to 
gether  and  celebrate  the  occasion.  What'll  you  have, 
Ruth?"  He  moved  his  hand,  at  a  guess,  toward  the 
glass  jar  that  held  the  pink  candy  with  the  white  stripes. 

She  nodded.     "Yes,  I  like  that  best." 

He  placed  a  stick  of  it  in  the  lady's  hand. 

"And  you,  Cyrus?    The  same,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir.     I'll  have  a  cocoanut  cake." 

Uncle  Hector  replaced  the  jar;  then,  as  he  laid  the 
cocoanut  cake  in  the  extended  hand : 

"But  you  wanted  the  candy  a  minute  ago;  a  whole 
dollar's  worth." 

"That's  when  I  was  treatin'  Ruth.  I  thought  it 
would  please  her  to  think  I  liked  what  she  liked." 

"But  you  don't  care  for  that  candy?" 

"No,  sir." 

Uncle  Hector's  face  took  on  a  new  expression.  He 
straightened  up,  lowered  his  chin,  regarded  the  small 
boy  in  front  of  him  was  a  peculiar  look,  bent  forward 
and  held  an  open  palm  quite  close  to  the  wondering 
face. 

"Shake  hands." 

Cyrus  reached  up  and  placed  his  small  hand  in  the 
extended  palm. 

The  large  hand  closed  over  the  little  one. 

"Cyrus,  you  are  a  gentleman." 


IV 

MATRIMONIAL 

A  JUNE  morning. 
The  sky,  this  morning,  is  the  bluest  blue ;  the 
air   delicious.     There   is    fragrance   in   it,   of 
buds,  new  grass  and  flowers.     Also,  in  the  air,  is  the 
joy  of  living,  and  the  promise  of  even  better  things 
to  come. 

But  Ruth  Heywood,  sitting  upon  the  front  door 
step  of  her  father's  house,  seemed  oblivious  to  the  sur 
rounding  rapture.  Her  thoughts  were  solemn.  Half 
an  hour  ago  she  had  witnessed  a  marriage  in  her  own 
parlor.  Her  father,  a  clergyman,  had  united  two  lov 
ers  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony.  The  ceremony  had 
deeply  impressed  the  youthful  witness,  curled  up  in 
the  big  arm  chair  near  the  window.  And  after. the 
departure  of  the  happy  couple  she  had  been  still 
further,  and  yet  more  deeply  impressed,  by  her  father's 

43 


44  Drowsy 

explanation  of  what  the  ceremony  meant.  Now,  sit 
ting  in  the  sunshine  on  the  front  steps,  her  youthful 
mind  was  struggling  with  the  marriage  problem.  It 
certainly  seemed  a  grand  idea,  this  bringing  together 
of  a  man  and  woman  to  love  each  other  dearly  all  the 
rest  of  their  lives,  with  no  drawback,  and  to  make  each 
other  supremely  happy,  not  only  in  this  life  but  in 
the  life  to  come.  The  more  she  thought  and  the  deeper 
she  went  into  this  inviting  subject  the  better  she  liked 
it.  And  she  wondered  why  anybody  should  delay  an 
hour  before  entering  the  holy  state. 

From  this  maiden  dream  of  everlasting  bliss  she 
was  gently  awakened  by  peculiar  sounds.  These 
sounds  came  from  the  lips  of  a  jubilant  boy,  dancing 
along  the  center  of  the  street.  If  explanation  were 
necessary  the  sounds  might  be  interpreted  as  a  song 
of  praise  to  the  Creator  for  producing  such  a  perfect 
day  in  such  a  wondrous  world.  To  further  emphasize 
the  joy  of  living  the  boy's  arms  were  swinging  above 
his  head  and  his  eyes  were  heavenward.  He  wore  a 
blue  and  white  checkered  shirt-waist,  brown  knickers, 
stockings  of  the  same  color  and  copper-toed  shoes. 
His  hat,  being  a  nuisance,  had  been  left  at  home. 

With  him  was  a  dog.  And  the  dog,  even  more  than 
his  master,  seemed  intoxicated  with  present  condi 
tions.  The  fact  of  being  alive  had  stirred  him  to  a 
wild  activity.  At  dazzling  speed  he  was  describing 
circles  about  the  size  of  a  circus  ring  around  the  sing 
ing  boy.  He  traveled  like  a  thing  possessed  and  with 
a  velocity  somewhat  faster  than  a  shooting  star.  And 


Matrimonial  45 

the  eyes  of  Ruth  Hey  wood,  although  young  and  ac 
tive,  blinked  as  they  tried  to  follow  him. 

She  called. 

"Drowsy!" 

Cyrus  stopped,  turned  about  and  made  a  sweeping 
bow.  When  he  straightened  up  the  maiden  beckoned, 
and  said,  "Come  here." 

As  he  seated  himself  beside  her,  she  asked: 

"Were  you  ever  married,  Cyrus  ?" 

For  an  instant  the  boy  was  taken  aback.  As  he 
turned  and  looked  into  the  maiden's  eyes,  ready  to 
carry  on  the  joke,  he  saw  those  eyes  were  more  than 
serious :  they  were  almost  tragic  in  their  earnestness. 

"Why,  of  course  not!     I'm  too  young." 

"No,  nobody  is  too  young.  It's  a  lovely,  beautiful 
thing  and  everybody  ought  to  do  it." 

Cyrus  was  clearly  surprised ;  but,  always  polite  to 
ladies,  he  nodded  his  appreciation  of  the  new  truth. 
"I  didn't  know.  I  thought  only  grown  folks  got 
married." 

"No ;  it  is  everybody's  duty.  And  it's  my  duty  and 
yours,  too." 

Cyrus' eyebrows  went  up.    "Me?    Mine?" 

"Yes.  It's  a  beautiful  thing  and  makes  us  all  better. 
Father  says  so." 

"Did  he  say  children,  too?" 

Ruth  hesitated.  "He — he — said  it  makes  everybody 
better — more  unselfish— and  of  course  he  meant  no 
body  is  too  young  to  be  made  better." 

Cyrus  nodded.     "1  'spose  that's  so." 


46  Drowsy 

"And  I  want  to  marry  you,"  said  Ruth. 

Cyrus  nodded.     "I'm  ready,  if  it's  a  good  thing." 

"It's  a  lovely  thing." 

"What's  the  kind  of  good  that  it  does?" 

"It  makes  us  better." 

"Yes,  but — but  in  what  ways  is  a  feller  better?" 

"Oh,  in  every  way." 

"Can  he  play  ball  any  better?" 

"I  guess  so." 

"Is  a  married  feller  stronger  and  can  he  run  faster 
than  the  feller  that  isn't  married?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Well,  that's  a  good  deal.  Does  it  take  long  to  have 
it  done?'' 

"Just  a  few  minutes." 

As  a  new  suspicion  entered  the  mind  of  the  pros 
pective  groom  he  edged  away  a  few  inches.  "Does  it 
hurt?" 

"What  hurt?" 

"Getting  married.  Does  a  dentist  do  it — or  some 
thing  like  that?" 

Contemptuously  the  maiden  answered.  "  'Course 
not!  You  are  a  very  ignorant  boy.  We  just  stand 
up  before  father  and  say  'I  will,'  and  'Yes'  and  'It  is' 
or  'I  do'  and  short  things  like  that.  Father  does  all 
the  rest." 

Then  Ruth  explained  the  ceremony,  and  described 
minutely  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  an  hour  ago  in 
her  own  home. 


Matrimonial  47 

"That's  easy  enough,"  said  Cyrus.  "Anybody  can 
say  those  things." 

"Everybody  does  it,"  said  Ruth. 

Cyrus  smiled ;  it  seemed  a  smile  of  relief.  "That's 
funny.  I'd  always  thought  being  married  was  kind 
of  important,  and  kind  of — kind  of — lasted  a  mighty 
long  time." 

"It  does.  It  lasts  forever.  That  is  why  it  is  so 
beautiful  and  lovely.  Everybody  is  better  forever 
and  ever." 

Cyrus  frowned.    "I  don't  know." 

"Don't  know  what?" 

"I  don't  like  the — the  long  time.  S'pose  we  got 
enough  of  it.  We'd  have  to  keep  on  just  the  same." 

"Oh,  Cyrus!    Would  you  get  tired  of  me?" 

"No,  'course  not !  Nobody  could  ever  do  that !  But 
s'pose  I  died  in  a  few  days,  would  you  have  to  be 
married  all  the  rest  of  your  life  to  a  dead  boy?" 

"Yes,  and  I  would  be  very  faithful  to  your  mem 
ory.  I  would  never  marry  anybody  else  and  I  would 
put  lovely  flowers  on  your  grave  every  day." 

"Ho!    I  don't  believe  that!" 

"Yes  I  would!" 

Cyrus  put  both  hands  on  his  knees,  stiffened  his 
arms,  straightened  up  and  drew  a  long  breath  of  the 
morning  air.  "Anyway,  I'l  rather  be  alive." 

"Of  course  you  would!  So  would  almost  anybody 
for  a  time.  But  you  are  very  silly  and  ignorant  if  you 
think  being  married  is  going  to  kill  you." 

"  'Course  I  don't!" 


48  Drowsy 

"Then  you  mustn't  say  such  things." 

"I  guess  I  only  just  meant  that  if  I  was  married 
I'd  rather  be  alive  than  dead.  But  what  do  we  have 
to  do  after  we  are  married?" 

"Oh,  everything — just  what  other  folks  do,  of 
course." 

"And  what's  that?" 

"Why — sit  opposite  each  other  at  breakfast,  go 
around  together,  and  own  things  together,  and  have 
the  same  pew  at  church.  You  at  one  end  and  me  at 
the  other,  with  our  children  between  us." 

Cyrus  frowned.     "Our  children?" 

Ruth  nodded. 

"But  I  never  heard  of  a  boy  eight  years  old  having 
real  children." 

Ruth  closed  her  eyes  in  solemn  meditation.  Cyrus, 
after  waiting  in  vain  for  an  answer  said,  with  a  laugh : 
"Think  of  me  with  real  children,  p'raps  biggern  I  am! 
They  could  lick  me  in  a  fight."  And  he  laughed. 
"That  is  funny,  isn't  it?"  And  he  gave  her  arm  a 
shake,  as  if  to  wake  her  up. 

At  the  sound  of  laughter  Zac,  sitting  on  the  step 
below,  cocked  his  ears,  wagged  his  tail  and  sidled  up 
closer  to  Cyrus,  who  reached  forward,  gathered  up 
the  loose  skin  at  the  back  of  Zac's  neck  and  gave  him 
a  friendly  shake. 

"Anyway,"  said  Ruth,  "everybody  ought  to  get  mar 
ried.  Your  father  and  mother  and  my  father  and 
mother  were  all  married. 

"Yes,  I  s'pose,  they  were." 


Matrimonial  49 

"Of  course  they  were.  They  would  be  ashamed  not 
to.  All  good  and  wise  people  marry.  Why,  King 
Solomon,  who  was  wiser  than  anybody,  had  seven  hun 
dred  wives." 

"How  many?" 

"Seven  hundred." 

"Seven  hundred!    Oh,  get  out!" 

"But  he  did!" 

"Seven  hundred,  all  alive  at  once?" 

"Yes." 

"Jimminy!  That  seems  an  awful  lot  for  one  man, 
doesn't  it?" 

Ruth  confessed  that  it  did. 

"Nobody  in  Longfields  has  more  than  one,  have 
they?" 

Ruth  mentioned  several  citizens,  but  could  recall 
none  who  had  more  than  one  wife. 

"If  one,"  said  Cyrus,  "is  enough  for  men  around 
here,  why  should  your  Solomon  need  seven  hundred?" 

"I  don't  know.     Perhaps  the  Bible  tells." 

"P'r'aps,"  said  Cyrus,  "he  was  homely  or  mean  or 
something  like  that,  and  instead  of  one  good  one  he 
had  to  take  seven  hundred  bad  ones." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  it  was  that." 

Cyrus  reflected  a  moment.  "P'r'aps  they  were  all 
mighty  good  and  there  being  so  many  of  'em  was  what 
made  Solomon  so  wise." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder." 

There  came  a  silence.  Then  Cyrus  straightened  up 
and  spoke  with  emphasis.  "I  just  don't  believe  he  or 


50  Drowsy 

anybody  else  had  seven  hundred  wives.  It's  too  many. 
It  isn't  likely,  somehow.  No  feller  would  want  that 
much." 

"Why,  Cyrus  Alton!  Don't  you  believe  what  the 
Bible  says?" 

"Yes — I — I — 'course  I  believe  it  if  you  and  the 
Bible  both  say  so,  but  seven  hundred  does  seem  a 
mighty  big  lot."  Then,  as  he  looked  away,  over  the 
common,  his  eyes  rested  on  two  persons  who  stood 
talking  together  across  the  way,  and  he  asked : 

"Were  Solomon's  wives  real  live  women  like  Mrs. 
Strong  and  Mrs.  Clapp,  over  there?" 

"Of  course  they  were!" 

Cyrus  closed  his  eyes.  But  through  his  ears  came 
the  thin,  far  reaching,  nasal  voice  of  Mrs.  Clapp.  "Did 
seven  hundred  women  like  that  sit  around  the  break 
fast  table  with  Solomon  every  morning?" 

"I  s'pose  they  did." 

For  an  instant  Cyrus  faltered.  He  lowered  his  eyes 
and  studied  his  shoes  with  the  copper  toes.  There 
might  be  a  darker  side  to  matrimony,  a  noisier,  less 
peaceful  side,  than  Ruth  had  pictured.  But,  as  he 
turned  and  looked  at  his  companion,  it  came  upon  him, 
like  a  ray  of  sunshine  that  a  hundred  Ruths  would  be, 
oh,  so  very  different  from  a  hundred  Mrs.  Clapps! 

"Did  all  those  wives,"  he  asked,  "sit  with  Solomon 
in  one  pew  on  Sunday?" 

Ruth  made  no  answer. 

"Doesn't  the  Bible  say  anything  about  that  ?" 

"I  don't  remember." 


Matrimonial  51 

"Well,  if  they  did,  I  say  he  must  have  had  a  mighty 
long  pew.  Do  you  s'pose  they  all  slept  in  the  same 
ncd  ?" 

"Perhaps." 

Cyrus  laughed.  "Seven  hundred  wives  in  one  bed ! 
Cracky !  I  guess  old  Solomon  slept  on  the  floor !" 

He  turned  and  smiled  into  the  girl's  face.  But  he 
saw  no  mirth,  only  surprise  and  disapproval  as  the 
lovely  eyes  looked  into  his  own.  He  was  learning  his 
first  lesson  in  the  noble  art  of  suppressing  humor  in 
the  presence  of  humorous  things  when  taken  seriously. 
And  he  blushed  at  his  own  frivolity.  Moreover,  his 
sympathy  for  the  much  married  Solomon  did  not 
weaken  his  allegiance  to  the  girl  beside  him.  There 
was,  to  be  sure,  a  peculiar  excitement  in  the  idea  of 
sitting  at  breakfast  with  seven  hundred  Ruths  entirely 
his  own.  Yet,  somehow,  the  vision  daunted  him. 
Even  the  vision  of  a  hundred  Ruths,  all  just  alike, 
filled  him  with  a  kind  of  awe — an  awe  of  more  things 
than  he  could  ever  live  up  to.  Seeking  courage  and 
consolation,  he  looked  down  into  the  face  of  Zac  as  a 
companion  more  like  himself — on  a  lower  spiritual 
plane.  Zac,  still  sitting  in  front  of  them,  always  look 
ing  earnestly  into  the  face  of  whoever  was  speaking, 
appeared  interested  in  the  conversation.  Cyrus 
stroked  his  head,  then  stood  up. 

"Let's  go  ahead  with  this  marrying,  if  you  say  so. 
But  where's  the  fun  of  it?" 

"Oh,  in  doing  such  a  beautiful  thing — and  being 
better." 


52  Drowsy 

"There's  no  great  fun  in  being  better.  We  are 
good  enough  already." 

"Oh,  Cyrus!  Nobody  is  good  enough  already  ex 
cept  our  fathers  and  mothers  and  ministers." 

Ruth's  manner  was  solemn.  The  responsibility  of 
the  enterprise  seemed  to  rest  entirely  on  her  own 
shoulders.  While  she  was  deciding,  with  far  away 
look,  on  the  next  step,  Cyrus  said : 

"There's  a  big  circus  picture  on  Mr.  Wade's  barn, 
just  stuck  up  this  morning.  It  has  a  great  big  tiger 
crawling  up  an  elephant,  and  soldiers  fighting  Indians, 
all  big,  in  splendid  colors!  Come  over  and  see  it." 

Ruth  frowned.  In  her  very  pretty  eyes,  as  she 
turned  them  in  sadness  on  the  prospective  groom,  was 
pity — the  almost  tearful  yet  contemptuous  pity  with 
which  Wisdom  looks  on  Folly. 

"Cyrus,  you  are  just  a  boy.  You  don't  understand 
things." 

"Don't  understand  what  things?" 

"How  important  this  marriage  is." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I'm  ready.  Let's  go  ahead 
now  and  have  it  over  with.  What  do  we  do  first?" 

"We  must  go  in  to  father  and  ask  him  to  marry  us, 
just  as  he  did  those  people  this  morning." 

"All  right.    Come  along." 

As  the  two  children  entered  the  house,  Zac  with  a 
bark  of  joy  bounced  into  the  hall  ahead  of  them.  It 
was  a  loud  bark,  a  piercing,  youthful  bark,  that  might 
disturb  a  dozen  clergymen  if  working  on  their  sermons. 

Ruth  stopped.     "Hush,  you  horrid  dog!" 


Matrimonial  53 

"Zac,  shut  up !"  said  Cyrus.  "Go  back,  and  stay  on 
the  porch." 

But  Zac  preferred  to  accompany  the  expedition. 
Without  openly  refusing  to  obey,  he  merely  bounced 
about,  just  out  of  reach,  wagged  his  tail  and  smiled 
in  the  faces  of  the  bride  and  groom. 

"Shall  we  let  him  come?"  said  Cyrus. 

Ruth  hesitated,  but  only  for  an  instant.  "No.  A 
dog  barking  at  a  wedding  would  be  unreligious." 

So  Cyrus,  by  pleadings,  threats  and  gentle  force  in 
duced  his  more  worldly  comrade  to  remain  without. 
But  he  said  good-by  to  him  as  he  turned  away.  For, 
in  parting  with  this  bachelor  friend,  he  may  have  had 
feelings  in  common  with  other  matrimonial  heroes 
when  marching  to  the  altar. 

Meanwhile,  the  Rev.  George  Bentley  Heywood, 
father  of  the  prospective  bride,  stood  at  the  west 
window  of  his  study.  His  thoughts  were  far  away. 
In  his  hand  was  a  letter  from  a  friend  in  China.  This 
friend,  a  missionary,  had  presented,  in  eloquent  and 
convincing  words,  the  various  joys,  spiritual,  material 
and  social  that  attended  the  servant  of  God  when  con 
verting  the  heathen  of  the  Orient. 

Mr.  Heywood's  imagination  had  responded  to  the 
winged  words  and  was  already  disporting  itself  in  the 
Chinese  vineyard.  There  had  been  other  letters,  all 
with  the  same  message.  And,  now,  standing  at  the 
window  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  he  was  thinking, 
and  thinking  hard,  over  the  most  important  decision 
of  his  life, 


54  Drowsy 

Mr.  Heywood  was  a  serious  man.  Upon  his  person 
lay  no  superfluous  flesh.  His  face,  otherwise  severe, 
was  tempered  by  the  eyes  of  a  poet — eyes  of  a  gentle, 
somewhat  solemn  beauty.  They  were  pleasant  to  look 
into.  Ruth  had  inherited  these  eyes,  and  in  her  childish 
face  they  shone  with  an  added  beauty.  They  were 
dreamy  eyes,  a  soft  brown-black  with  blacker  lashes, 
and  either  tragic  or  mirthful,  as  occasion  called. 

When  the  study  door  opened — with  no  preliminary 
knock — there  was  annoyance  in  the  clergyman's  man 
ner  as  his  eyes  turned  toward  the  intruder.  This  time 
there  were  two  intruders, — Cyrus  and  his  financee. 
Mr.  Heywood  frowned  when  the  two  small  people  ad 
vanced  to  the  center  of  the  room.  He  was  in  no  mood 
for  answering  children's  questions.  But,  as  he 
frowned,  Cyrus  bowed — one  of  his  best  and  most 
elaborate  efforts,  bringing  the  heel  of  one  foot  against 
the  instep  of  the  other,  all  with  a  gracious,  sweeping 
salutation  of  his  free  hand — the  one  that  was  not 
leading  Ruth.  It  was  the  greeting  of  one  gentleman 
of  the  old  school  to  another,  of  deference  and  good 
wishes.  Mr.  Heywood,  partly,  perhaps,  from  his 
thoughts  being  in  China,  found  himself  also  bowing 
deferentially,  as  if  to  some  exalted  and  venerable  per 
son.  Suddenly  realizing  the  absurdity  of  such  an 
obeisance  he  straightened  up  and  frowned  again.  Then 
he  spoke  more  harshly  than  if  he  had  not  blundered 
into  such  a  foolish  action. 

"Well,  children,  what  is  it?" 

Cyrus  spoke,    "We  have  come  to  get  married," 


Matrimonial  55 

"Who?" 

"We.  We— us." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Ruth  and  I  want  to  get  married." 

Mr.  Hey  wood  frowned  again  and  blinked,  as  if  to 
summon  his  wandering  wits,  undecided  whether  to 
believe  or  doubt  his  eyes  and  ears.  His  thoughts, 
barely  returned  from  China,  seemed  unequal  to  a  sud 
den  grasp  of  the  situation. 

"What  are  you  saying?" 

"I  am  saying  that  Ruth  and  I  want  to  get  mar 
ried." 

"Whose  idea  is  this?" 

"Mine/'  said  Ruth. 

As  the  father  met  the  earnest  eyes  of  his  daughter 
he  almost  smiled. 

"Where  did  you  get  such  an  idea,  Ruth?" 

"From  seeing  the  people  you  married  this  morning. 
You  said  marriage  was  a  beautiful  thing." 

"So  it  is.  So  it  is.  But  that  was  very  different. 
Only  grown  people  marry,  so  run  away,  children.  I 
have  no  time  for  play  this  morning."  And  he  turned 
away  and  sat  down  at  his  desk. 

"But,  Mr.  Heywood,"  said  Cyrus,  "this  is  not  play. 
This  is  important." 

"Important?     Why  important,  Cyrus?" 

"  'Cause  Ruth  wants  it." 

This  time  Mr.  Heywood  smiled.  "That's  a  good 
sentiment,  Cyrus.  It  shows  a  kind  regard  for  the 


56  Drowsy 

lady.  But  run  away,  both  of  you.  I  am  very  busy  this 
morning." 

"But,  Mr.  Heywood,"  said  Cyrus,  "what's  Ruth 
clone  that  she  should  be  punished  and  not  have  what 
she  wants,  and  wants  ever  so  much?" 

"How  punished?" 

"By  not  getting  what  she  wants." 

"And  what  do  you  say  she  wants?" 

"Me." 

The  father  laughed.  "Oh,  it's  you  she  wants,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Heywood  drew  a  hand  slowly  across  his  mouth 
as  he  looked  inquiringly  at  Ruth. 

Ruth  smiled  and  nodded.     "Yes,  sir." 

Her  father  also  nodded  as  in  polite  recognition  of 
her  wishes.  Turning  to  Cyrus,  he  inquired,  "What  are 
you  going  to  live  on  ?  What  is  going  to  be  your  busi 
ness?" 

"I'm  going  to  be  a  discoverer,  like  Columbus." 

"I  am  afraid  there  won't  be  much  left  to  discover  by 
the  time  you  are  a  man — not  on  this  earth,  at  least. 
The  big  continents  are  already  discovered." 

"But  there  will  be  new  countries  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  and  under  the  earth  and  on  the  moon,  and  such 
places." 

"On  such  places!  Dear  me,  Cyrus,  do  you  think 
of  taking  your  wife  to  the  moon?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  how  will  you  be  supporting  Ruth  all  that  time? 
A  husband  should  be  earning  money." 


Matrimonial  57 

"Oh,  that  part'll  be  all  right !  I'm  going  to  be  a  train 
robber." 

"A  train  robber!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Heywood  whistled  softly  and  looked  at  his 
daughter.  "Well — now — is  that  a  nice  business,  Ruth, 
for  a  model  husband  ?  Do  you  want  to  marry  a  train 
robber  ? 

Ruth  smiled  and  nodded.  "Yes,  I  shall  always  like 
Cyrus  and  whatever  he  does." 

"But  suppose  Cyrus  is  imprisoned  for  life,  or 
hanged,  as  often  happens  to  train  robbers?" 

Cyrus  interrupted,  and  spoke  contemptuously.  "No, 
I  shan't  be  that  kind !  It's  only  the  stupid  ones  that's 
caught !" 

Mr.  Heywood  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment  and 
appeared  to  be  thinking  it  over.  "Of  course,  it's  pos 
sible, — just  possible,  that  you  may  change  your  mind 
as  you  get  older." 

"No,  sir.  'Cause  a  man  gets  lots  of  money  that  way 
and  gets  it  quick  and  easy.  And  there'll  be  jewelry, 
too.  I  shall  give  the  jewelry  to  Ruth." 

"And  I,"  said  Ruth,  "shall  give  lots  of  it  to  mother. 
Mother  likes  jewelry." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Heywood,  "most  women  do.  But 
isn't  stolen  jewelry  a  little — 

Again  Cyrus  interrupted.  "But  that  won't  be 
stolen  jewelry.  When  you  steal  anything  you  get  it 
when  the  other  feller  isn't  looking — kind  of  sneakin'. 
I  shall  take  it  right  before  their  faces." 


58  Drowsy 

"Yes,  but  you  threaten  to  kill  them  if  they  resist. 
That's  robbery,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but  robbery  isn't  like  stealing.  It's  more 
— more — it's  braver." 

"Braver?  Possibly.  And  you  really  consider  rob 
bery  an  honorable  business?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  I  can  help  him,"  said  Ruth ;  "we  would  work 
together." 

•Mr.  Hey  wood  looked  from  the  cherubic  lips  of  the 
groom  into  the  clear  eyes  of  his  superlatively  conscien 
tious  little  daughter  and  murmured :  "Yes,  you  would 
be  of  great  assistance."  Then,  after  a  pause : 

"Now,  Cyrus,  you  and  Ruth  come  to  me  twenty 
years  hence  and  if  we  are  all  alive  and  Ruth  still  wants 
you  I  have  no  doubt  we  can  arrange  a  wedding." 

"Twenty  years!"  exclaimed  Ruth.  "Why,  father, 
we  shall  all  be  dead !" 

"Oh,  no!    I  trust  not." 

"Or  too  old— too  awful  old !" 

"No,  indeed!  You  will  be  twenty-seven.  Call  it 
fourteen  years,  then  you  will  be  only  twenty-one." 

"But,"  said  Cyrus,  "we  may  forget  all  about  it  in 
fourteen  years." 

"Then  it  will  be  no  disappointment  to  you  if  you 
can't  marry.  But  run  along  now,  children,  I  have  no 
more  time  for  you."  He  spoke  with  such  decision  as 
he  began  reading  the  letter  in  his  hand  that  the  un 
married  couple  turned  about  and  slowly  vanished. 

When  they  passed  out  into  the  open  air,  a  stranger 


Matrimonial  59 

might  have  thought,  from  the  manner  in  which  Zac 
bounced  with  joy  and  lifted  up  his  voice,  that  Cyrus 
was  emerging  from  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death.  As  they  stood  again  on  the  porch,  the  corners 
of  Ruth's  mouth  were  drooping.  There  were  tears  in 
her  irresistible  eyes.  Cyrus  laid  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders. 

"Now  don't  you  feel  bad,  Ruthy.     If  you  want  to 
be  married,  we  just  will." 

The  maiden  shook  her  head.     "He  said  not." 
"No,  he  didn't.     He  only  said  he  was  busy." 
"He  said  only  grown  people  got  married." 
"But  he  didn't  say  children  couldn't  if  they  wanted 
to." 

In  the  maiden's  face  came  a  brighter  look.     "Yes, 
that  is  true,  isn't  it?" 

"'Course  it  is!     And  we  will  be  doing  something 
new  and  different.     It  makes  folks  famous  to  be  the 
first  to  do  things.    Look  at  Christopher  Columbus,  and 
look  at  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  first  man  to  fly  a  kite 
and  steer  lightnin'  and  make  it  mind  him." 
"Was  he  married  when  he  was  a  child?" 
"Nobody  knows.     But  if  you  and  I  are  the  first 
children  to  get  married — the  very  first,  why  our  pic 
tures  might  be  in  history  books." 
Ruth  laughed.     "That  would  be  funny,  wouldn't  it?" 
"Yes,  wouldn't  it!     And  under  it  would  be  printed 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ruth  Heywood." 

"Oh,  no!     It  would  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cyrus  Alton. 
It's  always  that  way." 


60  Drowsy 

"Then  we'll  be  the  first  ones  to  do  it  the  new  way. 
We  needn't  do  just  like  everybody  else.  But  who's 
going  to  wait  fourteen  years.  Not  us!  If  your  father 
is  too  busy  to  do  it,  we'll  get  somebody  else." 

"Who?" 

"I  dunno."  And  he  looked  away  toward  the  com 
mon  and  became  thoughtful. 

Now  Cyrus'  ideas  of  matrimony  were  vague,  and 
impersonal.  As  a  game  it  had  never  interested  him. 
He  had  given  it  no  attention.  On  some  other  sub 
ject  he  had  definite  views — such  as  war,  baseball,  voy 
ages  of  discovery,  balloons,  maple  sugar,  battleships 
and  the  different  kinds  of  ice  cream.  But  this  mar 
riage  business,  now  that  Ruth  wanted  it,  had  suddenly 
become  important.  And  when  Ruth  really  wanted  a 
thing  he  felt  that  reason,  religion  and  the  Laws  of 
Man  and  Nature  should  stand  aside.  Moreover,  Cyrus 
was  no  quitter.  He  was  not  of  those  who  are  easily 
discouraged.  Persistence,  the  sort  that  stiffens  in  dis 
aster,  was  one  of  his  dominant  traits.  A  precious  gift 
on  occasions;  but  there  were  times,  in  the  bosom  of 
his  own  family,  when  it  was  not  admired.  As  guides 
to  character  the  drowsy  eyes  and  cherubic  mouth  were, 
in  this  particular,  misleading.  Behind  them  lay  the 
tenacity  of  purpose  which  so  often  transforms  defeat 
into  victory.  In  this  present  emergency  there  seemed 
to  him  especial  demand  for  achievement.  Ruth  wanted 
something  and  when  Ruth  wanted  something  it  was 
not  for  him,  nor  for  others,  to  reason  why. 

So  now,    while   the   bride,   crushed   to   earth,    was 


Matrimonial  61 

mourning  the  downfall  of  a  high  endeavor,  her  com 
panion  had  not  accepted  defeat.  With  roving  eyes  and 
tight  shut  mouth  he  was  seeking  some  other  road  to 
victory. 

Inspiration  came. 

Seeing  no  road  to  victory,  up  or  down  the  village 
street,  his  eyes  turned  heavenward.  As  they  rested  on 
the  spire  of  the  Unitarian  church,  just  across  the  way, 
there  came  an  answer  to  his  appeal.  It  came  through 
the  open  windows  of  the  church — the  notes  of  an  or 
gan.  He  turned  and  seized  his  fiancee  by  an  arm. 
"Ruth!  Listen!" 

"To  what?" 

"To  that  music!  It's  Horace  Phillips  practising  on 
the  organ !" 

Ruth  nodded  in  acknowledgment  of  the  fact,  but 
she  saw  no  relation  between  the  music  and  their  late 
rebuff. 

"We  can  go  right  over  there  and  get  married,"  said 
Cyrus.  "It  doesn't  matter  who  does  it  so  long  as  it 
is  in  a  church  and  there's  music." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  of  course!    Ask  anybody." 

There  was  nobody  to  ask,  so  he  took  her  by  the  hand 
and  started  forward.  She  held  back.  He  pulled 
harder.  "Come  along.  There's  the  church  all  open ; 
and  the  organ  playing.  It's  just  the  place  to  be 
married." 

She  yielded.     "But  there's  no  minister  to  do  it." 

"That  don't  make  any  difference.     As  long  as  we 


62  Drowsy 

are  married  in  a  church  with  music,  anybody  can  do 
it." 

He  spoke  with  authority — the  kind  that  carries  con 
viction  and  puts  an  end  to  controversy. 

As  they  started,  however,  she  again  held  back,  and 
exclaimed,  in  a  final  despair,  "Oh,  I  forgot!" 

"Forgot  what?" 

"The  ring.    We  have  to  have  a  ring." 

"What's  the  use  of  a  ring?" 

"Nobody  is  married  without  a  ring.  The  man  puts 
a  ring  on  the  woman's  finger  and  says  things." 

"Well — I  can  say  the  things  and  we'll  just  play 
there's  a  ring." 

"No." 

"Oh,  come  along!" 

"No." 

Now  Cyrus  had  become  interested  in  this  business. 
He  felt  a  pride  in  carrying  it  through.  To  fail  now 
would  be  disgrace.  In  vexation  he  raised  his  right 
hand — the  one  not  holding  Ruth's — and  thrust  its 
thumb  between  his  teeth.  On  that  hand  something 
glistened. 

"Why,  there's  a  ring!"  exclaimed  Ruth,  "right  on 
your  finger!  Isn't  it  lucky." 

Cyrus  regarded  the  little  silver  band. 

Ruth  repeated :  "Isn't  it  lucky!" 

Cyrus  hesitated.    "Do  I  have  to  give  it  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"For  you  to  keep  and  not  give  back?" 

"Yes,  of  course!" 


Matrimonial  63 

"But  Henry  Wheelock  made  it  for  me  out  of  a  ten- 
cent  piece.  I've  only  had  it  a  little  while." 

"Oh,  Cyrus!    Would  you  be  so  mean  as  that?" 

"I'm  not  mean !  You  know  I'm  not  mean !  Henry 
Wheelock  made  it  out  of  my  own  ten-cent  piece  and 
I — I — don't  want  to  lose  it." 

A  look  of  sorrow  in  Ruth's  eyes  suddenly  changed 
to  contempt.  "Then  keep  your  old  ring!  I'm  sure  / 
don't  want  it."  And  she  pulled  away  the  hand  that 
was  in  his,  wheeled  about  and  started  to  reenter  the 
house.  But  Cyrus  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Ruthy!  You  shall  have  it. 
Come.  Don't  let's  fight." 

So  began  this  lovers'  quarrel.  But  as  often  happens, 
the  male  of  the  species  besought  and  appealed,  apolo 
gized,  promised  everything,  acknowledged  guilt  and 
sufficiently  humbled  himself  until  Sweet  Peace  re 
turned.  Then  all  was  forgiven,  and  a  second  time  they 
started  for  the  church.  Zac  brought  up  the  rear. 

On  the  church  steps  sat  Luther  Dean  and  the  New 
Boy.  The  New  Boy  had  lived  in  Longfields  only  a 
few  weeks.  He  differed,  in  many  ways,  from  the  other 
boys  of  the  village.  He  was  blase,  and  older  in  his  feel 
ings  ;  he  came  from  a  larger  town  and  had  seen  more 
of  the  world.  His  tendency,  now, — natural,  perhaps, 
but  unrepressed — was  to  despise  more  simple  people. 
He  gave  the  impression  among  still  younger  boys  of 
having  crowded  into  his  ten  years  of  life  a  red  career 
of  war  and  piracy,  of  wild  adventure,  of  reckless  deeds 
and  thrilling  escapes.  These  experiences  were  rather 


64  Drowsy 

suggested  than  described,  always  in  a  casual  off-hand 
way,  calmly  and  without  excitement,  in  a  voice  and 
manner  tempered  by  the  wisdom  of  the  ages.  And 
his  eyes,  light  blue  and  frigidly  serene,  moved  slowly 
from  one  listener  to  another  in  a  weary  but  patient 
condescension.  His  usual  haunts,  it  appeared,  were 
the  upper  ether,  and  the  deep  sea,  the  canon  and  the 
prairie,  the  impenetrable  forest,  the  decks  of  battle 
ships  and  fields  of  carnage. 

As  the  bridal  couple  approached  the  steps,  Cyrus 
called  to  Luther  Dean  and  beckoned  to  him.  Luther 
came  forward.  So  also  did  the  Xew  Boy — the  Budding 
Outlaw — although  he  was  not  invited ;  and  his  pres 
ence  embarrassed  Cyrus,  for  this  was  a  private  busi 
ness,  in  a  sense,  and  not  for  the  general  public.  Be 
sides,  Cyrus  did  not  like  the  New  Boy.  However,  he 
braced  up  and  put  on  a  careless  front. 

"We  want  you  to  marry  us,  Luther,  now,  here  in 
the  church." 

Luther  frowned,  then  smiled.    "Me?    Marry?" 

"Yes,  marry  us — Ruth  and  me." 

"Golly!    I — I — never  married  anybody." 

"That  don't  matter.    Anybody  can  do  it." 

"But  I'm  too  young.    It  takes  a  man." 

"No,  it  doesn't.  Ruth  can  tell  you  what  to  say.  It's 
all  easy.  Come  along." 

They  entered  the  church ;  but  Zac,  like  many  of  his 
kind,  was  unpleasantly  affected  by  music,  so  he  re 
mained  outside. 

Up  the  main  aisle  they  started,  Luther  in  front,  the 


Matrimonial  65 

bride  and  groom  behind,  holding  hands.  In  the  gal 
lery  above  Horace  Phillips  was  practising  various 
tunes,  and  the  voice  of  the  great  organ  filled  the 
church.  To  the  bride  and  groom,  both  lovers  of  music, 
the  notes  of  the  organ  seemed  more  impressive  than 
ever  in  the  now  empty  building. 

But  the  wedding  procession  had  barely  started  up 
the  aisle  when  the  ceremonies  were  rudely  interrupted. 
The  Budding  Outlaw,  smarting  perhaps  at  being  ig 
nored,  followed  close  behind  and  yielded  to  a  vengeful 
impulse.  Ruth's  hair,  gathered  by  a  ribbon  behind 
her  head,  was  flowing  down  her  back  like  a  golden 
mane.  The  Budding  Outlaw  reached  forth  and  seized 
a  handful,  then  gave  it  a  violent  jerk,  as  if  driving  a 
horse,  and  he  said, 

"Hi  there!    Giddap  ;  giddap!" 

Ruth  cried  aloud  in  pain,  "Stop  it!  Oh,  stop  it! 
It  hurts!" 

She  could  not  turn  her  head,  but  raised  her  hands 
in  vain  efforts  at  protection. 

Cyrus  wheeled  about.    "Let  go  that  hair !" 

And  he  scowled  in  anger  at  the  aggressor.  But  the 
aggressor  merely  renewed  the  twitchings  with:  "Gid 
dap  hossey.  Giddap." 

"Let  go  that  hair,"  once  more  said  Cyrus. 

The  Budding  Outlaw,  for  answer,  twitched  the 
golden  hair  again,  and  harder  than  before.  As  Ruth 
in  helpless  agony  was  still  raising  her  hands  to  her 
head,  Cyrus  aimed  a  blow  at  the  Budding  Outlaw  and 
hit  him  in  the  face.  But  the  Budding  Outlaw  was  one 


66  Drowsy 

year  older  and  one  year  bigger  than  Cyrus,  and  twenty 
years  cooler,  more  cynical  and  more  blase.  So,  with 
out  even  loosening  his  hold  on  the  bride's  hair,  he 
struck  out  with  his  free  hand  and  landed  full  on 
Cyrus's  mouth.  The  blow  was  so  well  directed  that 
the  recipient  staggered  back  and  stood  for  a  second 
or  two  as  if  dazed.  On  the  Budding  Outlaw's  face 
was  a  smile  of  easy  victory — and  contempt.  Cyrus 
saw  it.  In  Ruth's  face  he  saw  torture  and  helpless 
anger.  Then  he  threw  himself  again  at  the  enemy. 
And  again  the  enemy  without  loosening  his  left-hand 
clutch  on  the  golden  hair,  sent  his  fist  against  the  ap 
proaching  face,  landing  full  on  its  nose  and  followed 
it  by  a  sudden  push.  Cyrus  staggered  back  across  the 
aisle  and  leaned  against  the  nearest  pew.  He  blinked, 
and  drew  a  hand  across  his  bleeding  mouth.  His  nose 
seemed — to  him — about  twice  its  usual  size  and  rapidly 
growing  bigger.  Then  Ruth,  forgetting  her  own  pain, 
cried  out : 

"Oh,  Luther,  Luther !    Help  Cyrus !" 

But,  either  from  wisdom  or  some  other  reason, 
Luther  refrained  from  interfering.  He  looked  at 
Ruth,  then  down  at  the  floor,  then  up  again  at  the 
Budding  Outlaw,  now  terrible  in  his  easy  triumph. 
Ruth  called  again  to  him,  yet  more  urgent — a  passion 
ate  appeal  for  help.  It  was  the  cry  of  one  old  play 
mate  to  another,  for  the  rescue  of  a  bosom  friend. 
But  the  organ  above  was  pouring  forth  its  music  and 
Luther  turned  away,  pretending  not  to  hear  the  cry. 

Cyrus,  during  this  moment's  lull,  did  some  rapid 


Matrimonial  67 

thinking.  He  saw  the  folly  of  his  previous  'attacks. 
So,  as  Ruth  was  uttering  her  second  appeal  to  his  luke 
warm  friend,  he  advanced  again,  but  more  slowly  than 
before,  ducked  his  head  and  dodged  a  blow,  then 
jumped,  and  closed  with  the  enemy.  And  to  the  Bud- 
ing  Outlaw  it  seemed  as  if  a  dozen  boys  were  on  him. 
Blows  rained  upon  his  face.  Copper  toed  shoes  were 
hammering,  with  the  rage  of  demons,  against  his  sensi 
tive  shins.  He  let  go  the  maiden's  hair,  as  all  his 
hands  were  none  too  many  for  this  peaceable  boy  now 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  reckless  and  bloodthirsty 
athlete.  He  could  not  reach  Cyrus's  face,  as  that  face, 
for  protection,  was  pressed  close  against  the  Outlaw's 
own  chest.  And  when,  at  last,  he  got  both  hands 
against  Cyrus's  face  and  body  to  push  him  off  he  felt 
ten  fingers  tighten  about  his  throat  with  a  grip  that 
scared  him.  For  now,  as  the  two  iron  thumbs  were 
pressing  his  windpipe  with  murderous  power,  he 
realized  that  this  boy  was  fighting  with  the  fury  and 
the  strength  of  those  who  fight  for  victory  or  for 
death.  He  gurgled,  gasped,  pulled  Cyrus's  hair  and 
beat  wildly  at  his  head.  But  when  a  man  is  fighting 
for  the  woman  of  his  choice — or  for  any  other  holy 
cause — he  has  the  strength  of  many.  So  with  Cyrus. 
The  tearing  of  his  hair,  the  blows  upon  his  head  and 
face  and  body  were  as  summer  zephyrs.  For  him,  at 
the  moment,  death  could  have  no  terrors.  He  was  in 
this  struggle  for  victory  or  annihilation. 

No  boy  can  live  without  breathing,  and  the  Budding 
Outlaw's  strength  was  going.     Cyrus  forced  him  to 


68  Drowsy 

the  floor.  Then,  knowing  nothing  of  the  Rules  of 
the  Ring,  he  hammered  him  in  the  face  and  jammed 
his  knees  into  his  stomach,  as  if  to  kill. 

At  last,  after  a  final  blow  and  jab  and  kick,  he 
climbed  to  his  feet,  stepped  back  and  looked  down  at 
him.  Ruth  seized  him  by  an  arm  and  tried  to  drag 
him  from  the  church. 

"Come!    Come  quick,  before  he  gets  up!" 

But  a  change  had  come  over  the  once  peaceful 
groom.  The  lust  of  battle  was  in  him.  He  paid  no 
attention  to  her  words.  Breathing  hard,  with  bruises 
on  his  face,  his  lips  bleeding,  he  beckoned  to  the  figure 
on  the  floor  as  if  angry  at  delay: 

"Come  along.    Get  up." 

But  the  Dare-devil  of  the  West,  the  killer  of  In 
dians,  the  Pirates'  Terror,  had  no  intention  of  rising. 
Enough  was  sufficient  for  this  Despiser  of  Peace,  this 
Tormentor  of  Brides.  To  fight  in  orderly  fashion  with 
a  boy  you  know  you  can  lick — that's  one  thing.  But  to 
struggle  with  wild  animals,  cyclones  and  supernatural 
forces  that  ignore  the  rules  of  war  and  really  mean 
to  kill  you,  and  will, — unless  you  can  get  away, — that's 
very  different.  Moreover,  something  was  telling  him 
now  that  a  big  will  in  a  little  body  can  demolish  giants. 
He  knew  he  was  stronger  than  Cyrus,  but  the  thing 
with  which  he  had  so  suddenly  become  acquainted  was 
the  spirit  within  this  smaller  boy — the  same  old  spirit 
that  stirred  the  Greeks  at  Marathon,  and  the  handful 
of  Lexington  farmers.  And  now,  before  him,  with 
the  swelling  nose  and  bleeding  lips,  glowered  the  em- 


Matrimonial  69 

bodiment  of  that  immortal  spirit.  The  Tormentor  of 
Brides  suspected,  and  his  suspicions  were  correct,  that 
if  he  hurled  this  boy  a  dozen  times  against  the  oppo 
site  pews  he  would  still  come  at  him,  and  each  assault 
would  be  more  deadly  than  its  predecessor. 

Cyrus,  again  ignoring  the  Rules  of  the  Ring,  stepped 
forward  and  kicked  him.  "Come,  get  up!  Get  up. 
Finish  it!" 

Slowly  the  New  Boy  shook  his  head,  with  a  gesture 
of  defeat.  He  muttered  something  too  low  to  hear — 
words  drowned  in  the  notes  of  the  organ.  He  refused 
to  rise. 

Then  Cyrus  turned  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Ruth. 
In  drawing  the  back  of  a  fist  across  his  mouth  during 
the  conflict  his  cheeks  had  become  smeared  with  blood. 
As  Ruth  stared  in  a  kind  of  terror  at  this  gory  visage 
with  riotous  hair,  swelling  nose  and  still  bleeding  lips, 
she  saw  in  the  erstwhile  drowsy  eyes  a  look  that  was 
unfamiliar;  a  look  of  determination,  as  if  no  argu 
ments  from  God  or  man  or  devil  would  be  considered. 
Weak  and  all  atremble,  her  one  desire  was  for  hurry 
ing  home.  But  she  obeyed  the  unspoken  mandate  and 
laid  her  hand  in  his.  Then  Luther,  also  in  obedience 
to  an  unspoken  command,  this  time  a  peremptory  ges 
ture  toward  the  pulpit,  again  started  up  the  aisle.  And 
it  so  happened  as  the  little  assemblage  resumed  its  in 
terrupted  progress  the  great  organ  in  the  gallery  burst 
forth  with  Wagner's  "Wedding  March";  and  it  filled 
the  church. 

The  marriage  ceremony  passed  off  well; — that  is, 


yo  Drowsy 

of  course, — making  allowance  for  the  officiating  per 
son  who  had  no  knowledge  of  what  he  ought  to  say,  or 
of  what  he  was  saying.  With  constant  promptings  and 
corrections  from  the  bride — who  although  somewhat 
hysterical  at  the  moment,  had  a  remarkable  memory 
for  the  sound  of  words — Luther  managed  to  get  along. 
To  misunderstand  certain  promptings  was  excusable, 
for  the  music  was  confusing.  Horace  Phillips,  in  the 
gallery,  ignorant  of  what  was  happening  below,  had 
started  off  with  the  full  force  of  the  organ,  and  he 
continued  with  enthusiasm  until  the  swelling  notes 
resounded  through  the  empty  building. 

Ruth  supplied  all  the  language. 

Luther.  Will  you  take  this  wedded  girl  for  your 
wife? 

Cyrus.    I  will. 

Luther.  Will  you  take  this  wedded  boy  for  your 
husband  ? 

Ruth.     I  will. 

Luther.  Do  you  promise  to  endure  with  all  your 
worldly  goods? 

Cyrus.    I  do. 

Luther.    Will  you  hold  on  for  better  than  worse? 

Ruth.    I  will. 

Luther.     You  promise  to  obey? 

Cyrus.     I  do. 

Luther.  Until  death  departs,  richer  or  poorer  and 
cherish. 

Ruth.    I  do. 

Cyrus.    It  is. 


Matrimonial  71 

Luther.    I  denounce  you  as  man  and  wife. 

Cyrus.    I  do. 

Ruth.     No,  Cyrus,  you  say  nothing. 

Cyrus.    Nothing. 

Ruth.  No,  no!  You  don't  say  anything — just  keep 
still. 

Luther.    With  this  ring  I  you  wed. 

Cyrus.    No.    /  say  that ! 

He  said  it,  and  with  heroic  self-control  bade  a  silent 
farewell  to  his  silver  treasure  as  he  slipped  it  on  a 
finger  of  the  bride.  Then,  to  the  rejoicing  music,  they 
marched  down  the  aisle. 

Outside  the  church  the  bride,  who  feared  a  renewal 
of  the  conflict,  looked  about  with  anxious  eyes  for  the 
Budding  Outlaw.  But  she  had  no  cause  for  alarm. 
The  Budding  Outlaw  was  visible,  far  down  the  street, 
beyond  the  common,  marching  with  humble  mien,  re 
flecting  sadly  on  the  uncertainties  of  human  life. 


V 


HE  MEETS  TWO  LADIES 

MISS  Anita  Clement  was  the  maiden  lady 
who  had  rented,  with  her  two  unmarried  sis 
ters,  Mr.  David  Lothrop's  house  at  the  west 
end  of  the  village.  She  had  a  girlish  figure,  good  fea 
tures  and  soulful  eyes.  Her  exact  age  was  some 
where  between  twenty-five  and  forty.  This  lady's  deli 
cate  beauty  was  impaired  a  trifle  by  a  nervous  mouth 
which  told,  in  spite  of  all  efforts  to  the  contrary,  that 
its  owner  was  easily  annoyed,  and  was  a  stranger  to 
the  various  blessings  of  a  tranquil  spirit.  She  had  no 
sense  of  humor;  but  this  deficiency  was  counterbal 
anced  by  a  profound  respect  for  the  conventions  of 
life,  and  by  a  sincere  and  humble  adoration  of  her  own 
religious  creed,  with  a  corresponding  contempt  for  all 
others.  Her  dominant  attribute  was  timidity.  Com 
pared  with  Miss  Clement,  the  average  mouse  was  a 

72 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  73 

fearless  desperado.  As  is  usually  the  case  with  such 
temperaments,  her  nerves  were  assertive. 

This  particular  November  afternoon  they  seemed 
to  have  started  a  revolt  throughout  her  whole  interior 
mechanism;  and  she  decided  to  consult  a  physician. 
So  she  walked  out  to  Dr.  Alton's  house.  On  this  walk 
— about  two  miles — she  passed  a  group  of  boys  play 
ing  with  a  football.  Now  boys,  to  Miss  Clement, 
were  the  living  emblems  of  noise  and  danger.  Her 
one  dread  concerning  a  future  existence  was  the  pos 
sibility  of  there  being  boys  in  Heaven.  And,  in  this 
life,  the  things  she  dreaded  most  were  fire,  burglars, 
run-away  horses,  smallpox  and  boys.  Her  sympathy 
with  boys  was  akin  to  her  sympathy  with  thunder 
storms  and  pirates.  In  passing  boys  in  the  street  or  on 
the  common  she  held  her  breath  in  nervous  terror,  ex 
pecting  to  be  struck  by  a  baseball,  or  bat  or  stone, 
green  apple  or  snow-ball,  according  to  season.  Only  in 
color  and  in  clothing  did  she  recognize  any  difference 
between  boys  and  Comanche  Indians.  She  loved  Law 
and  Order;  whereas,  to  a  boy,  Law  and  Order  were 
merely  bars  to  freedom.  She  had  reasons  for  believ 
ing  that  the  highest  ambition  of  every  normal  boy 
under  twelve  years  of  age  was  to  become  an  influential 
outlaw.  And  she  was  not  far  wrong. 

This  being  Saturday  afternoon,  and  no  school,  the 
earth  seemed  swarming  with  these  offensive  creatures. 
However,  by  going  around  the  common  instead  of 
across  it,  she  reached  Dr.  Alton's  house  alive — and 
rang  the  bell.  The  door  was  opened  by  yet  another 


74  Drowsy 

boy,  eight  or  nine  years  of  age.  Miss  Clement,  being 
a  newcomer  in  the  town,  had  not  the  honor  of  this 
child's  acquaintance.  Knowing  all  boys  to  be  bar 
barians,  with  no  manners,  she  was  surprised  when  this 
one  acknowledged  her  presence  with  a  smile  of  wel 
come  and  a  ceremonious  bow.  It  was  the  kind  of 
salutation  that  Louis  XIV  would  have  given  to  the 
Queen  of  Spain.  She  might  have  expected  it  from  an 
elderly  dancing  master,  but  never  from  a  boy  in  this 
New  England  village.  Taken  by  surprise,  she  was 
silent  a  moment,  fearing  this  youthful  savage,  perhaps 
more  uncivilized  even  than  other  boys,  was  amusing 
himself  at  her  expense.  A  good  look  at  his  face,  how 
ever,  allayed  suspicion.  In  his  calm  eyes  and  radiant 
smile  there  was  nothing  but  pleasure  at  seeing  her. 
Beside  him  stood — or  rather  bounced — a  youthful  dog. 
He  was  a  fox  terrier.  Judging  from  the  activity  of 
his  tail  and  from  the  general  expression  of  his  person, 
the  arrival  of  the  visitor  was  affording  him  joy  and 
excitement.  In  a  tentative  bark  he  told  his  welcome. 
But  Miss  Clement  hesitated.  Her  dread  of  boys  was 
only  equaled  by  her  aversion  to  dogs.  How  a  civilized 
person  could  live  in  the  same  house  with  a  dog  she 
had  never  been  able  to  understand.  Their  manners 
and  customs  were  unspeakable.  And  the  exuberent 
vitality  of  this  dog  annoyed  her.  His  joy  was  un 
reasoning  and  intemperate.  He  wagged  his  tail  with 
such  energy  as  to  sway  his  entire  person.  Judging 
from  outward  vibrations  his  very  soul  was  wagging. 
He  gave  the  impression — to  this  visitor — of  having  a 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  75 

frivolous  nature.  And  she  found  solace  in  the  thought 
that,  later  on,  he  would  be  made  to  realize  that  life 
was  a  serious  thing. 

"Is  Dr.  Alton  at  home?"  she  inquired. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Do  you  know  when  he  will  return?" 

"Oh,  very  soon!  Won't  you  walk  in?"  and  he 
stepped  aside,  holding  the  door  wide  open.  At  the 
same  time,  he  waved  with  his  free  hand  a  courtly  ges 
ture  toward  the  interior  of  the  house.  Inwardly  dis 
turbed  by  this  unexpected  deportment  of  a  barbarian, 
Miss  Clement  walked  into  the  sitting-room  and  seated 
herself  on  a  sofa,  near  the  open  fire.  It  was  a  large 
cheerful  room  with  white  woodwork  and  a  pale  green 
paper  on  the  walls,  somewhat  faded  in  places  near  the 
sunny  windows.  Scattered  over  the  large  center  table 
were  many  books  and  periodicals.  On  the  floor  in 
front  of  her  was  a  pair  of  scissors  and  a  family  Bible. 
The  Bible  was  open  and  three  of  its  illustrations,  re 
cently  extracted,  were  lying  beside  it.  The  author  of 
this  mutilation  climbed  into  a  large  arm  chair  directly 
opposite,  sitting  very  erect,  as  if  on  his  best  behavior. 
He  was  watching  her  with  undisguised  interest  and 
approval. 

But  the  dog  was  inclined  to  be  familiar.  He 
jammed  his  nose  against  her  skirt  and  ankles  and 
sniffed  in  a  most  offensive  way.  The  boy  saw  that 
these  things  annoyed  her  and  he  called  off  the  brute, 
rebuked  him  and  apologized  to  the  visitor.  "I  guess 
you  have  a  dog,  and  Zac  smells  him." 


76  Drowsy 

Miss  Clement,  with  some  severity,  denied  the  accu 
sation.  "Indeed,  I  have  no  dog."  And  it  was  clear 
from  her  manner  that  she  had  no  such  associates. 

Now  all  boys  were  alike  to  Miss  Clement.  The 
only  striking  features  in  this  one's  face  were  his  eyes. 
Their  heavy  lids,  coming  far  down  over  the  iris,  gave 
a  half  shut,  drowsy  look  to  his  face,  and  Miss  Clement 
felt  sorry  that  his  parents  should  be  afflicted  with  such 
a  stupid  child.  His  fat,  cherubic  little  mouth,  how 
ever,  seemed  to  indicate  a  cheerful  spirit.  As  the  two 
sat  facing  each  other,  the  young  male  and  the  adult 
super-civilized  female,  the  lady  from  some  undefined 
reason  felt  ill  at  ease.  Yet  she  knew  that  nothing  was 
more  absurd  than  a  woman  of  her  age  being  ill  at 
ease  in  the  presence  of  a  nine-year-old  boy.  As  she 
looked  again  into  his  eyes  she  began  to  realize  that 
their  very  drowsiness  gave  an  impression  of  abnormal 
serenity  and  repose — as  of  concealing  hidden  depths 
of  wisdom.  Also  they  seemed  to  be  sitting  in  judg 
ment  on  her.  The  fact  of  his  being  a  boy  aroused  an 
tipathy.  Although  she  knew  that  many  good  men  had 
once  been  boys,  as  certain  butterflies  have  once  been 
worms.  Moreover,  she  knew  it  was  not  really  his  own" 
fault  that  he  had  come  into  the  world  in  that  form. 
They  were  necessary  evils,  like  taxes  and  old  age. 

"Are  you  Dr.  Alton's  son?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Cyrus." 

While    Miss    Clement    was    wondering   why    New 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  77 

Englanders  persisted  in  giving  such  names  to  helpless 
children  she  was  startled  by  his  saying,  regretfully: 

"You  don't  like  that  name." 

"Not  like  it  ?    Why  do  you  think  I  don't  like  it  ?" 

"I  know  by  your  face." 

Miss  Clement  blushed.  The  tranquil  eyes  were  look 
ing  sadly  into  her  own  as  if  investigating  in  a  friendly 
way  her  most  secret  thoughts.  She  became  embar 
rassed. 

"Why,  yes— I  like  it." 

"It  is  better  than  some  other  names." 

"Indeed  it  is!    Very  much  better!" 

"It  is  the  name  of  a  great  conqueror." 

"Yes — of  course — and — perhaps  you  may  be  a 
great  conqueror  yourself  when  you  grow  up." 

"No.  I  don't  care  for  that  business.  I  shall  sit  on 
the  high  seat  of  a  big,  gold  band-wagon  of  a  circus 
full  of  splendid  music,  with  eight  white  horses.  I  shall 
drive  the  horses  and  listen  to  the  music." 

"Yes,  that  will  be  very  nice." 

The  room  seemed  warm  after  the  November  chill 
outside,  and  Miss  Clement  drew  off  her  thick  gloves. 
As  her  left  hand  dropped  carelessly  beside  her,  upon 
the  edge  of  the  sofa,  she  felt  a  sickening  contact  with 
something  warm  and  very  wet.  Quickly  she  withdrew 
the  hand.  With  an  exclamation  of  disgust,  she  held 
aloft  the  befouled  member.  But  the  dog,  whose  gen 
erous  tongue  by  one  lingering  stroke  yielded  such  a 
vast  amount  of  moisture,  had  risen  upon  his  hind  legs 
to  accomplish  it,  and  now  stood  looking  up  into  her 


7  8  Drowsy 

face  for  recognition  of  the  friendly  act.  His  reward 
was  a  look  of  loathing.  And  for  a  moment  she  still 
held  aloft  the  varnished  hand,  uncertain  what  to  do. 

The  boy  laughed.    "Why,  it's  nothing  but  dog  spit!" 

He  drew  forth  from  his  pocket  a  handkerchief. 
With  two  steps  forward  he  offered  it  to  the  lady.  As 
he  did  so  he  bowed  with  the  pretentious  grace  of  a 
Chesterfield  advancing  to  the  relief  of  Beauty.  But 
Miss  Clement  recoiled.  For  on  this  handkerchief  were 
blood  stains — also  mud — and  green  paint.  Too  much 
disgusted  to  think  of  manners,  she  ignored  his  offer 
and  used  her  own  handkerchief.  But  she  shrank  from 
replacing  it  in  a  clean  pocket. 

Looking  down  at  the  floor,  she  frowned. 

"I  hope  it  was  not  you  who  cut  those  pictures  from 
that  nice  book." 

The  Vandal  smiled,  and  nodded,  giving  the  impres 
sion  of  pride  in  the  work. 

"Are  you  the  only  person  in  the  house?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  ma'am.    Joanna's  gone  to  the  store." 

Again  she  frowned  down  at  the  litter  on  the  floor. 
"Does  your  mother  know  what  you  have  been  doing 
here?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"Has  she  never  told  you  not  to  cut  up  books?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

Miss  Clement  frowned  again,  and  stiffened  a  little. 

"And  your  father?  Does  he  allow  you  to  do  such 
things?" 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  79 

"I  don't  know.  I  didn't  ask  him.  Are  you  fond  of 
pictures?" 

"Yes — I  am  fond  of  pictures." 

He  got  down  from  his  chair,  picked  up  the  three 
engravings,  came  and  stood  beside  her,  leaning  against 
her  knees.  He  laid  the  pictures  in  her  lap  and  asked 
which  she  liked  the  best. 

One  engraving  showed  Joshua  commanding  the  sun 
to  stand  still ;  one  showed  Elijah  going  to  Heaven  in 
his  fiery  chariot ;  and  the  other — she  almost  blushed  as 
she  looked  at  it — showed  Susanna  and  the  elders.  Su 
sanna  wore  no  clothing  and  the  elders  were  shocking 
old  men. 

"Which  do  you  like  best?"  he  repeated. 

She  pointed  to  Joshua. 

"Which  next?" 

She  pointed  to  Elijah. 

"Now — I  don't  care  for  that  feller  himself,"  he 
said,  "but  I  like  the  pretty  lady.  Best  of  all,  though, 
I  think,  is  the  horses  and  the  chariot  going  right  up  in 
to  the  sky.  Just  think  of  it !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "just  think 
of  going  way  up  into  the  sky!  I  think  I  shall  do  it 
myself!  Did  he  really  go  up  that  way  with  those  fat 
horses?" 

"No,  I  think  not." 

"Then  it's  a  fairy  story." 

"No,  it's  a  Bible  story." 

"What's  the  difference?" 

"Bible  stories  are  true  stones  and  fairy  tales  are 
made-up  stories." 


8o  Drowsy 

"But  you  just  said  this  man  didn't  go  up  to  Heaven 
with  a  span  of  horses." 

"Not  in  just  that  way — probably." 

"Did  he  go  up  at  all?" 

Miss  Clement  hesitated.  "Well — I  suppose  he  did, 
perhaps." 

"I  betcher  he  couldn't  go  up  in  any  way  like  that 
with  horses  treading  on  nothing  but  air."" 

Miss  Clement  had  not  come  to  this  house  for  a  theo 
logical  argument.  But  she  said  nothing  and  merely 
heaved  a  sigh,  a  sigh  of  weariness. 

But  the  boy  was  still  fresh.  "What  was  this  man's 
name?" 

"Elijah." 

"Elijah  what?" 

"I  don't  think  he  had  a  last  name." 

"Where  did  he  live?" 

"Off  in  the  East." 

"If  any  one  should  write  him  a  letter,  asking  him 
how  he  went  up  that  way,  and  addressee!  the  envelope 
just  Elijah,  off  in  the  Yeast — would  he  get  it?" 

"Oh,  no ;  he  died  long,  long  ago. 

"Well,  anyway,  I  am  going  up  myself,  some  day, 
but  not  with  horses.  Horses  couldn't  do  it.  When  I 
go  I  shall  go  with  a  kite,  a  big  kite  with  a  long  string. 
I  shall  have  a  box  kite.  You  know  what  a  box  kite  is  ?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Well,  it  will  be  a  big  box  kite  longer' n  this  room, 
with  me  sitting  inside  and  Luther  Dean  flying  it.  When 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  81 

it  gets  ten  miles  up  in  the  air  I  shall  reach  down  with 
long  scissors  and  cut  the  string." 

As  he  stepped  back  to  study  the  effect  of  this  news, 
she  found  his  drowsy  eyes  were  no  longer  drowsy,  but 
wider  open  and  all  aglow  with  enthusiasm.  "That's* 
my  own  idea!" 

She  smiled  and  nodded.     "Yes,  it  is  very  original." 

''And  then  I  shall  sail  way  up  as  high  as  I  want  to. 
Perhaps  to  the  moon!" 

"Yes,  that  will  be  very  nice." 

"What's  the  use  of  crawling  about  on  the  earth 
like  a  bug?  I'd  rather  be  a  bird." 

Miss  Clement  nodded  assent  and  lowered  her  eyes 
to  the  mutilated  Bible.  But  his  enthusiasm  was  con 
tagious.  She  almost  believed,  for  a  moment,  that  he 
could  do  it.  However,  she  was  uncomfortable  in  the 
presence  of  this  barbarian.  She  knew,  from  experi 
ence,  the  awful  frankness  of  a  boy;  the  statements  he 
can  make,  and  his  cruel  questions ;  questions  that  up 
heave  religions,  that  lay  bare  your  secret  doublings 
and  impugn  the  wisdom  and  the  motives  of  the 
Creator  himself.  A  boy's  thirsty,  delving  little  mind 
is  never  satisfied  with  your  easy  answer  that  "the  ways 
of  the  Almighty  are  inscrutable."  As  this  interview 
proceeded  she  realized — and  to  her  chagrin — that  there 
was  something  about  this  vandal  that  caused  her  a 
peculiar  kind  of  restraint  and  self -consciousness — 
almost  diffidence.  Being  distinctly  a  nervous  person 
and  gently  irritated  at  her  own  self-consciousness,  Miss 
Clement  looked  about  the  room,  over  the  boy's  head, 


82  Drowsy 

with  an  expression  somewhat  more  severe  than  the 
situation  required.  But  his  instincts  of  hospitality 
were  not  so  easily  suppressed.  Pointing  to  a  dish  of 
fruit  on  a  further  table,  he  asked : 

"Won't  you  have  an  apple?" 

"No,  I  think  you." 

He  seemed  disappointed.  Then  as  his  eyes  rested 
on  a  little  music  box  that  lay  on  the  table  beside  him, 
he  exclaimed,  with  enthusiasm :  "You  like  good 
music  ?" 

In  her  own  voice  there  was  less  enthusiasm  as  she 
answered,  "Yes,  I — think  I — do." 

Miss  Clement  suddenly  realized — as  happens  with 
nervous  people — that  she  was  annoyed  by  these  foolish 
questions.  Instead  of  replying  she  straightened  up 
and  looked  first  at  the  clock,  then  at  the  boy.  She 
found  him  gazing  at  her  earnestly,  as  if  trying  to  read 
her  thoughts. 

"This  music  box,"  he  said,  with  signs  of  embarrass 
ment,  "plays  five  lovely  tunes:  The  Last  Rose  of  Sum 
mer,  Hear  Me,  Norma,  The  Carnival  of  Ven— 

"Not  now,"  she  interrupted. 

Had  her  host  been  an  older  man,  with  a  knowledge 
of  women — if  such  is  possible — this  unexpected 
change  of  manner  would  have  been  a  warning. 

"It's  four  o'clock,"  she  added  hastily,  and  her  smiles 
had  vanished.  "Are  you  the  only  person  in  the 
house?" 

Taken  aback,  and  obviously  mortified  by  this  sud 
den  change  of  manner,  he  took  a  backward  step  and 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  83 

replaced  the  music  box  on  the  table.  In  his  face,  with 
a  slight  quivering  of  the  lips,  came  the  first  signs  of 
embarrassment  he  had  shown.  He  bowed :  not  the 
gracious,  self-possessed,  courtly  salutation  of  a  kingly 
welcome  with  which  he  had  first  greeted  her,  but  a 
solemn  inclination  of  the  head,  as  one  who  humbles 
himself — but  gracefully — before  an  angry  deity.  And 
he  murmured : 

"I  am  sorry." 

Her  eyebrows  went  up.     "Sorry  for  what?" 

"I  don't  know — exactly." 

For  an  instant  she  failed  to  understand.  Then  into 
her  face  came  a  gentler  expression.  "Yes,  you  do! 
You  are  sorry  because  you  think  you  have  troubled 
me ;  but  it  is  I  who  beg  your  pardon.  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself.  You  have  given  me  a  lesson  in  politeness." 

And  she  smiled  her  sweetest  smile.  Whereupon  the 
sunshine  returned  to  his  own  face.  Encouraged  by 
this  change  of  atmosphere,  he  resumed  with  new  cour 
age  his  role  of  host.  For  a  moment  he  studied  her 
face,  uncertain  as  to  what  was  expected  of  him.  Fold 
ing  his  hands  above  his  head,  he  glanced  about  the 
room,  searching  for  inspiration.  It  came.  His  face 
brightened.  The  slumbrous  eyes  sparkled.  Coming 
a  step  nearer,  he  demanded  with  suppressed  enthu 
siasm  : 

"Do  you  care  for  snakes  or  mice  ?" 

The  visitor  regarded  him  with  a  kind  of  terror. 

She  frowned,  turned  her  face  to  one  side  and  shook 
her  head.  The  host  misunderstood  the  movement. 


84  Drowsy 

"But  it's  no  trouble.  I  can  get  them  both.  They  are 
right  here  in  the  woodshed."  And  he  started  toward 
the  door. 

"Come  back,"  she  said,  "I  don't  care  to  see  either 

of  them." 

» 

"But  the  snake  is  dead  and  the  mouse  won't  bite. 
He  knows  me." 

Miss  Clement  shuddered :  "No!  No!  Don't  speak 
of  them  again!  Comeback." 

He  came  back.  She  knew,  and  had  always  known, 
that  boys  themselves  were  a  species  of  reptile.  She 
felt,  at  this  moment,  that  whatever  this  boy  did  must 
be  regarded  from  that  point  of  view — and  forgiven. 
And  as  she  wondered  how  a  benevolent  Creator  could 
permit,  in  a  decently  ordered  world,  the  existence  of 
boys,  the  Vandal  exclaimed  in  a  reflective  tone,  but 
with  a  smile  of  amusement: 

"Women  are  funny !" 

At  that  moment  the  grandfather  clock  in  the  corner 
struck  four.  Miss  Clement  frowned  in  that  direction. 
"When  did  Dr.  Alton  say  he  would  be  back?" 

"He  didn't  say." 

"But  you  told  me  he  would  return  soon." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"But  you  really  don't  know  when?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Then  you  told  a  fib." 

The  Vandal  smiled  and  nodded.     "Yes,  ma'am." 

"But  that  is  wrong,  you  know.  You  should  always 
tell  the  truth." 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  85 

"Yes,  ma'am.  But  I  thought  it  would  be  good  to 
have  you  come  in,  and  sit." 

Miss  Clement  almost  frowned  and  smiled  in  one 
expression.  "But  you  did  wrong.  Doesn't  your 
mother  punish  you  for  telling  such  fibs?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Is  she  not  at  home?" 

"Oh.no!" 

"When  do  you  expect  her?" 

"Oh,  never!" 

"Never?" 

The  drowsy  eyes,  in  astonishment,  opened  a  little 
wider.  "Of  course  not.  She  is  dead." 

"Oh,  that  is  too  bad !  I  am  very  sorry.  Was  it 
long  ago  that  she  died  ?" 

"Oh,  yes !  Long,  long  ago.  More  than  twenty 
years." 

"More  than  twenty  years !  I  think  you  must  be  mis 
taken.  How  old  are  you?" 

"Nine  next  July." 

"Then  your  mother  could  not  have  died  twenty 
years  ago." 

"Yes.     She  died  long  before  I  was  born." 

Miss  Clement  slowly  shook  her  head.  "But  not 
twenty  years.  That  is  impossible." 

"But  she  did." 

"Then  she  was  your  step-mother  perhaps?" 

"No.    My  own  mother." 

This  conversation  was  becoming  so  very  absurd  that 


86  Drowsy 

Miss  Clement  made  no  answer.  She  merely  looked 
away — and  studied  the  room. 

The  boy  smiled  as  if  amused  at  her  ignorance. 
"Don't  you  understand  how  it  was?" 

"The  lady's  only  reply  was  to  close  her  eyes  wearily. 
But  he  stepped  nearer  and  laid  a  hand  on  each  of  her 
knees,  to  wake  her  up. 

"Don't  you  see,"  he  said,  "the  difference  between 
eight  and  twenty  is  twelve,  isn't  it?;' 

"It  is." 

"Well,  then  she  must  have  been  dead  twelve  years 
when  I  was  born." 

Now  Miss  Clement  could  never  do  arithmetic.  She 
abominated  figures,  and  these  words  were  uttered  with 
so  much  conviction — reenforced  by  the  wisdom  of  his 
eyes — that  her  brain  became  tangled  for  a  moment. 
It  seemed  to  shrink,  in  a  sort  of  nervous  bewilder 
ment,  from  this  fantastic  puzzle.  He  smiled  at  her 
obvious  confusion,  moved  backward  a  step  or  two, 
folded  his  hands  behind  him  and  squirmed  with  de 
light.  "It's  funny  you  don't  understand.  I  guess  I 
am  smarter  than  you  are." 

Miss  Clement  shut  tight  her  lips  and  looked  %away — 
anywhere.  Her  own  brain  seemed  laughing  at  her. 

"I  s'pose,"  said  the  Vandal,  "I  don't  need  a  mother 
much." 

"Every  boy  needs  a  mother.  Is  Joanna  your 
sister?" 

He  laughed  at  such  an  absurd  mistake.    "No !  She's 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  87 

lots  older  than  you  are.  She's  housekeeper — and  lots 
of  things." 

Miss  Clement  looked  about  the  room,  at  the  pic 
tures  on  the  walls.  They  were  mostly  engravings  and 
photographs. 

"Is  there  a  portrait  of  your  mother  here?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Not  anywhere  in  the  house?" 

"No." 

"There  must  be  a  photograph." 

"No." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes'm." 

"That  is  ver"  strange." 

"Why?" 

"Because — because — it  is  most  unusual.  Did  she 
die  here  in  this  house?" 

"Oh,  no!    Of  course  not!" 

"Why  of  course  not?" 

"Because  she  died  in  Italy." 

"Was  she  Italian?" 

"I  guess  so." 

"Have  you  never  seen  a  portrait  of  her?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

Miss  Clement  frowned.  There  seemed  to  be  a  mys 
tery  here.  Possibly  a  scandal  of  some  sort.  And  her 
interest  quickened.  "I  suppose  your  father  talks  to 
you  about  her  sometimes." 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Never?" 


88  Drowsy 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Of  course  he  has  told  you  where  you  were  born?" 

"P'r'aps." 

"Perhaps  what?" 

"P'r'aps  he  did." 

"But  you  don't  remember?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

Nobody  likes  to  be  thwarted  in  the  pursuit  of  knowl 
edge.  In  this  case  it  seemed  to  Miss  Clement  that  the 
deeper  she  delved  the  less  she  found. 

"Don't  you  remember  ever  having  seen  a  portrait 
of  her?"  ' 

"Of  course  not." 

"Why  of  course  not?" 

"Because  there  isn't  any." 

This  seemed  a  good  reason.  But  Miss  Clement  felt 
that  either  she — or  this  boy — was  being  deceived. 

The  Vandal,  whose  drowsy  eyes  had  scarcely  moved 
from  the  study  of  her  face  since  she  entered  the  room, 
saw  the  look  of  disappointment.  It  was  a  somewhat 
petulant  expression  in  which  she  would  not  have  in 
dulged  had  her  host  been  twenty  years  older.  But 
he  saw  it  so  clearly  that  he  was  moved  to  sympathy. 
With  all  the  joy  and  enthusiasm  of  a  great  idea,  he 
exclaimed :  "My  father  may  know  all  about  her.  I 
will  ask  him  to  tell  you!" 

A  chill  of  horror  swept  up  Miss  Clement's  spine. 
She  suddenly  realized  what  awful  mischief  a  youthful 
savage — either  from  ignorance  or  perversity — might 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  89 

accomplish.  She  stood  up.  "No!  Don't  mention  it 
to  him — nor  to  anybody." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  mustn't." 

She  could  see,  in  the  Vandal's  face  as  he  looked  up 
at  her,  that  he  enjoyed  this — to  him — unaccountable 
fright.  He  even  laughed.  "There's  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of." 

"No,  of  course  not!"  And  she  tried  to  smile. 
"But  promise  me  you  will  not  ask  your  father,  nor 
anybody  else." 

To  this  super-sensitive  lady  there  appeared  in  his 
uplifted  eyes  a  cruel,  triumphant  delight,  as  he  said — 
"Why  did  you  ask  if  you  don't  want  to  know  about 
her?" 

"Merely  in  the  way  of  conversation.  And  she 
added,  with  her  sweetest  smile — "merely  from  a 
friendly  interest.  You  are  a  nice  boy,  and  you  under 
stand,  I  am  sure." 

He  nodded  ;  but  his  eyes,  in  their  slumbrous  wisdom, 
seemed  almost  contemptuous. 

"Promise  me,"  she  insisted.  "Promise  me  you  will 
say  nothing  about  it  to  anybody." 

"Yes,  I  promise." 

"You  are  a  nice  little  boy — and  I  must  go,  now.  I 
will  call  again  in  a  day  or  two.  Good  by." 

He  bowed  as  he  said  good-by.  Then  he  followed 
her  out  into  the  hall,  ran  before  her  and  held  the  door 
wide  open.  As  she  passed  out  he  bowed  again;  the 
same  deferential  obeisance  with  which  he  had  first 


90  Drowsy 

greeted  her — as  from  Louis  XIV  to  the  Queen  of 
Spain. 


As  Miss  Clement  crossed  the  common  on  her  way 
home  she  saw  a  group  of  children  looking  skywards, 
and  she  heard  the  word  "Eagle."  She  stopped,  and 
also  looked  up.  And  as  she  looked,  and  watched  the 
bird,  floating  tranquilly  in  the  upper  air,  in  a  wide, 
slow  circle,  majestically,  with  no  apparent  effort,  so 
high  above  the  earth  that  he  might  be  a  visitor  from 
another  planet — she  recalled  the  words  of  her  recent 
host :  "What's  the  use  of  crawling  about  on  the  earth 
like  a  bug?  I'd  rather  be  a  bird." 


An  hour  later  Dr.  Alton  returned  afoot.  He  had 
left  his  horse  in  the  village  to  be  shod.  As  he  walked 
up  the  driveway  he  noticed  a  figure  standing  on  the 
mounting  block  before  the  house.  It  was  so  enveloped 
in  the  golden  glories  of  a  setting  sun  that  Dr.  Alton 
failed,  at  first,  to  recognize  his  own  son.  The  figure 
seemed  a  part  of  the  sunset — more  an  ethereal  spirit 
than  an  earthly  boy.  Cyrus  was  standing  erect  and 
motionless,  his  head  thrown  back  as  if  inhaling  inspira 
tion  from  the  radiance  about  him.  Such  prolonged 
and  voluntary  immobility  would  be  unusual  in  any  boy. 
Moreover,  Cyrus  maintained  this  attitude,  forgetting 
— or  ignoring — the  customary  greeting  to  his  father. 
After  waiting  a  moment  before  his  strangely  indiffcr- 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  91 

ent  son,  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  began  to  mingle  with 
Dr.  Alton's  surprise. 

At  the  foot  of  the  block  sat  Zac,  looking  up  at  the 
silent  boy.  And  Zac,  also,  might  be  a  little  off  in  his 
mind  for  he,  too,  failed  to  welcome  or  even  to  notice 
the  returning  parent. 

At  last  Dr.  Alton  spoke.  "What's  the  matter,  Cy 
rus?  Dreaming  you  are  a  bird?" 

Slowly  Cyrus  lowered  his  face,  his  eyes  still  shut. 
And  slowly  the  eyes  were  opened  as  if  waking  from 
a  sleep.  They  showed  a  mild  surprise  at  his  father's 
presence.  But  he  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  his 
spirit  still  lingered  elsewhere : 

"Somebody  wants  us." 

"Who?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"But  you  know  who  told  you." 

"No,  sir.     Nobody  told  me." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Cyrus?  Wake  up.  Is  it  an 
emergency  call?" 

Cyrus  raised  a  hand  and  pointed  before  him,  toward 
the  south. 

"It  comes  from  off  there." 

Dr.  Alton  frowned,  less  from  irritation  than  from 
fear  that  this  foolish  utterance  of  his  son  might  be  the 
forerunner  of  some  future  spiritualistic  obsession — or 
other  mental  derangement. 

But  he  spoke  gently.  "Whose  house  do  you  think 
it  is?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  at  all!    It  comes  from  way  off— 


92  Drowsy 

way  off!     It's  in  the  air;  not  a  loud  sound,  like  some 
body  near.     More  like  a — like  a — breath." 

"What  does  it  say?" 

"It  says — it  says — oh,  I  dnnno.     It  isn't  words." 

"Then  how  do  you  know  they  want  me?" 

"It  wants  us  both.     It  wants  me  too." 

Dr.  Alton  smiled.  "Do  they  want  your  help  as 
another  doctor?" 

But  Cyrus  did  not  return  the  smile.  He  obviously 
regarded  the  message  with  a  certain  solemnity — and 
awe.  Again  he  closed  his  eyes  and  again  turned  up 
his  face. 

"It  is  still  coming." 

"What  is  still  coming,  Cyrus?  The  same  message?" 

"Yes,  sir,  the  same  message — that  we  are  wanted 
there." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  it  isn't  anywheres  near  here. 
It's  a  good  ways  off.  And  we  are  wanted  very  much ; 
— oh,  very  much!" 

Dr.  Alton  turned  away.  "Well,  Cyrus,  when  you 
get  your  message  in  more  definite  form  I  shall  be  glad 
to  consider  it." 

As  he  entered  the  house,  however,  he  stood  in  the 
doorway  a  moment,  looking  back.  Cyrus  was  still 
standing  on  the  mounting  block,  with  face  upturned. 
On  the  ground  sat  Zac,  still  waiting  patiently  for  his 
hero  to  return  to  earth. 

When  Cyrus  followed  his  father  into  the  house  he 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  93 

found  him  warming  himself  before  the  open  fire.  He 
approached  and  stood  before  him. 

"Father,  \vhy  isn't  there  a  picture  of  my  mother 
somewhere  round  the  house?" 

Dr.  Alton  raised  his  eyebrows  at  the  unexpected 
question.  "Why  do  you  ask,  Cyrus?" 

"  'Cause  somebody  was  here  to-day  who  wanted  to 
know." 

"Who?" 

With  a  knowing  shake  of  the  head  the  diplomat  an 
swered,  "Oh,  I  mustn't  tell  you.  I  promised  not  to." 

"Well,  you  must  keep  your  promise." 

"But  why  isn't  there  one?" 

"It's  a  long  story,  Cyrus.  Some  day  I  will  tell  you, 
but  not  just  now." 

"But  why  not  now  ?  This  is  when  I  want  to  know. 
I  may  forget  about  it." 

Dr.  Alton  was  familiar  with  the  gimlet  quality  of 
the  youthful  mind.  "Well — Cyrus — let  us  wait  and  see 
if  you  forget  it.  And  if  you —  At  that  moment 

he  happened  to  look  more  carefully  at  a  letter  in  his 
hand,  delivered  during  his  absence  and  which  he  had 
just  taken  from  the  table.  Cyrus  waited  for  him  to 
go  on.  He  waited  in  vain.  Dr.  Alton  stepped  hastily 
to  the  window  for  more  light,  and  read  the  letter.  It 
was  evidently  of  unusual  interest,  as  he  forgot  to  finish 
his  sentence.  And  when,  at  last,  Cyrus  asked  him  to 
continue  he  did  not  even  hear  his  son's  voice. 

The  letter  was  written  in  a  woman's  hand,  and  in 
French. 


94  Drowsy 

At  the  supper  table  that  evening  father  and  son  were 
sitting  alone,  as  usual.  The  son  was  talkative,  but  the 
father  was  silent ;  so  silent  that  Cyrus,  at  last  discour 
aged  by  the  complete  indifference  of  a  usually  sympa 
thetic  audience,  became  silent  himself. 

And  the  father  had  abundant  material  for  thought. 
He  was  trying  to  understand  how  the  message  in  the 
letter  had  reached  the  boy.  By  what  mysterious 
agency  had  this  yearning  of  a  woman's  heart  stirred 
the  brain  of  the  far  away  Cyrus?  Could  there  be  a 
harmony  between  these  two  spirits  so  intimate  as  to 
render  the  written  word  superfluous?  These  were 
questions  he  tried  in  vain  to  answer. 

When  the  meal  was  finished  and  Joanna  began  to 
clear  away  the  things,  Dr.  Alton  surprised  her  by  ask 
ing  if  Cyrus  had  a  good  suit  of  clothes. 

"A  good  suit  of  clothes!     Of  course  he  has!" 

"I  mean,  a  nice  new  suit,  that  is  becoming  to  him." 

"He  has  that  pretty  dark  suit  with  the  wide  collar 
that  he  wears  Sundays." 

"Yes, — yes — I  know — but  would  that  be  good 
enough  to  wear  in  New  York." 

"In  New  York?  Is  Cyrus  going  to  New  York?" 
And  there  was  a  ring  of  dismay  in  Joanna's  voice. 

"I  think  so." 

"When?" 

"To-morrow." 

"What  for?" 

Dr.  Alton  hesitated.  "I  have  some — sort  of  busi 
ness  there  and — will  take  him  with  me." 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  95 

"Will  he  stay  long?" 

"Only  a  day  or  two." 

"Heaven  be  praised !     I  began  to  be  frightened." 

The  doctor  laughed.  "You  needn't  worry,  Joanna. 
We  shall  come  back  alive — and  very  soon." 

The  next  day  Cyrus  and  his  father  were  in  the 
wicked  city.  The  important  business  of  the  following 
morning  was  taking  the  boy  to  a  fashionable  establish 
ment  and  fitting  him  out  in  stylish  raiment.  And 
when  the  deed  was  done  Dr.  Alton  realized  that  Cyrus, 
in  these  new,  well  fitting  clothes,  with  his  intelligent 
face  and  erect  little  figure,  was  not  a  boy  to  be  ashamed 
of. 

"To-night,"  said  Dr.  Alton,  "we  go  to  the  opera." 

"Opera."  And  Cyrus  repeated  the  new  word. 
"Opera.  What  is  that,  father?" 

"It's  a  theater,  where  they  sing." 

"Isn't  the  circus  better?" 

"Well,  yes;  sometimes  it  is  better.  But  you  come 
to  the  opera  with  me  to-night  and  to-morrow  I  will 
take  you  to  the  Hippodrome.  That's  fair,  isn't  it?" 

Cyrus  agreed  that  it  was. 

To  a  boy  of  eight,  who  has  never  been  to  any  theater, 
Grand  Opera  is  a  strong  beginning.  When  he  and 
his  father  took  their  seats — seats  not  too  far  from  the 
stage — Cyrus,  in  wonder,  looked  about  him  and  above 
him,  at  the  vast  auditorium,  the  gorgeous  architecture, 
the  radiant  women  and  their  flashing  jewels.  And  so 
many  of  them!  This  was  a  new  world  of  which  he 
had  never  heard,  Wide  open  were  his  eyes;  also  his 


96  Drowsy 

mouth — and  all  his  senses.  He  absorbed  everything. 
The  overture  filled  him  to  the  brim  with  a  celestial  joy. 
Such  music  he  had  not  imagined.  Then,  to  his  sur 
prise,  all  the  lights  were  lowered  and  the  vast  chamber 
was  in  gloom.  And  when,  the  next  moment,  the  great 
curtain  began  slowly  to  ascend,  disclosing  the  scene 
behind,  then,  indeed,  came  the  culmination  of  his  joy 
and  amazement. 

What  followed  was  bewildering — the  music  and  the 
changing  lights;  the  peasants,  the  soldiers  and  the 
kings  and  queens.  And  everybody  singing!  Then 
the  ballet,  with  the  fairies!  The  boy  was  enchanted. 

But,  among  the  many  figures,  there  was  one  that 
stood  out  the  clearest.  It  was  a  woman.  Her  face, 
her  voice,  her  singing  and  her  story  moved  him  beyond 
any  of  the  others.  The  words  that  were  sung  were 
strange  words  and  they  told  him  nothing,  but  he 
guessed  the  story.  This  lovely  woman  with  a  lovely 
voice  had  a  diadem  in  her  hair  and  was  in  trouble — 
troubled  by  a  hateful  man  in  splendid  clothes,  with  lav 
ender  legs.  But,  however  deep  her  trouble,  she  sang 
so  well  and  in  such  a  heavenly  voice  that  the  whole 
audience  applauded  her,  again  and  again.  It  was 
clear,  even  to  a  child,  that  she  was  the  queen  of  the 
evening,  the  star  of  stars.  And  once,  between  two 
acts,  when  she  came  out  upon  the  stage,  between  the 
good  lover  and  the  wicked  nobleman,  bowing  to  the 
audience  in  acknowledgment  of  flowers,  Cyrus  saw, 
and  saw  so  clearly  there  was  no  mistake,  that  she 
looked  directly  at  him,  Cyrus,  and  at  his  father !  And 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  97 

as  she  saw  them,  she  bowed  and  smiled  more  radiantly 
than  ever !  And  so  clear  it  was  that  he  looked  up  and 
whispered : 

"Why,  father,  she  was  bowing  to  us !" 

He  saw  his  father  was  smiling  back  at  her  as  he 
murmured,  "Yes — she  is." 

That,  in  itself,  was  exhilarating. 

But  no  human  boy  can  withstand  for  an  infinity  of 
time  an  infinity  of  new  emotions — however  delectable. 
At  the  end  of  the  second  hour  Cyrus'  head  was  rest 
ing  against  his  father's  arm,  and  his  eyes  were 
closed.  But  in  his  sleep  he  heard  the  music.  In 
his  dreams  came  the  voice  of  the  Lovely  Lady.  His 
eyes,  only,  were  closed.  In  his  ears,  and  to  his  weary 
but  enchanted  brain  came  all  except  the  actual  vision. 
When  his  father  woke  him  from  this  gentle  sleep  the 
great  curtain  was  slowly  descending  at  the  end  of  the 
final  act.  Music  filled  the  air, — volumes  and  volumes 
of  it.  Countless  people  were  on  the  stage ;  kings  and 
queens,  lords  and  ladies,  peasants  and  soldiers,  all  sing 
ing  their  loudest.  So  many  noisy  people  Cyrus  had 
never  heard.  And  in  the  center  among  the  kings  and 
queens  was  the  Lovely  Lady,  also  singing. 

A  few  moments  later,  after  the  great  curtain  had 
descended,  a  half  dozen  of  the  principal  singers  came 
filing  out  in  front  of  it,  holding  hands,  and  bowing 
and  smiling  to  the  audience.  The  Lovely  Lady  re 
ceived  heaps  of  flowers.  And  her  eyes,  as  she  bowed 
and  smiled,  rested  for  a  moment  on  Cyrus  himself. 

The  next  day,   as  to  weather,  was  disappointing. 


98  Drowsy 

The  cold,  damp  air,  the  leaden  sky  and  the  flurries  of 
snow  were  a  surprise  to  Cyrus,  as  it  was  just  plain, 
country  weather,  and  bad  at  that.  It  seemed  out  of 
place  in  a  fine,  big  city.  And  he  was  again  surprised, 
in  the  afternoon,  when  his  father  took  him  into  Central 
Park.  He  considered  it  a  waste  of  time,  when  so 
much  of  the  city  had  not  been  seen.  They  walked 
along  the  borders  of  a  lake,  through  some  woods,  then 
followed  a  path  up  a  little  hill.  And,  two  or  three 
times,  when  they  came  to  other  paths,  his  father  took 
from  his  pocket  the  French  letter  he  had  received  at 
home,  and  seemed  to  study  it  as  if  it  told  him  where 
to  go.  On  one  of  these  halts  the  boy  protested. 

"Why  do  we  come  here,  father?  We  can  see  trees 
at  home." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  Cyrus.  But  we  go  only  a  little 
further."  And  when  they  came  to  a  rustic  bench  in  a 
secluded  spot,  quite  hidden  among  trees  and  shrubs, 
Dr.  Alton  seated  himself. 

"Are  you  tired?"  Cyrus  asked.  Dr.  Alton  looked 
at  his  watch.  "No,  I  am  not  tired." 

"Then  let's  go  back  to  the  city,  and  be  seeing  things." 

His  father  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  patted  it. 

"There  is  no  hurry.  We  can  wait  a  minute.  It  is 
rather  pleasant  here,  don't  you  think?"  Then  he 
looked  along  the  path  in  both  directions  as  if  expect 
ing  something.  Cyrus  was  too  polite  to  say  what  he 
really  thought,  so  he  merely  scowled  and  swung  his 
legs,  hitting  the  toe  of  one  foot  against  the  heel  of 
the  other.  Meanwhile  his  father  kept  looking  along 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies  99 

the  path  by  which  they  had  come  as  if  expecting  some 
thing. 

And  something  came. 

It  was  a  lady,  and  she  was  hurrying  toward  them. 
Instead  of  going  by  she  stopped  and  greeted  Dr.  Alton. 
And  the  greeting  was  more  than  friendly.  There  were 
kisses,  and  they  stood  for  a  moment  in  each  other's 
arms.  Tears  were  on  her  cheeks  when  she  stooped 
down  and  put  both  hands  on  Cyrus'  shoulders  and 
looked  earnestly  into  his  face.  In  her  own  face  there 
was  a  look  of  excitement,  and  of  joy.  More  tears 
came  to  her  eyes.  And  her  eyes  were  full  of  expres 
sion,  with  a  peculiar  droop,  that  gave  an  air  of  calm 
ness  and  repose.  She  kissed  the  boy, — kissed  him  sev 
eral  times — then  held  him  at  arm's  length,  said  some 
thing  in  a  foreign  language — then  kissed  him  again. 
Although  she  was  evidently  an  important  person,  and 
beautiful  and  kind  and  very  gentle  and  affectionate— 
and  he  liked  her  furs  as  he  stroked  them — nevertheless 
Cyrus  accepted  her  attentions  with  surprise,  and  with 
a  mild  resentment.  No  woman  had  ever  treated  him 
in  this  manner,  and  these  caresses  embarrassed  him. 
Moreover,  her  face  and  voice  awakened  memories — 
memories  as  of  fairy  tales  with  music — of  things  un 
real,  yet  positive,  and  fresh  in  his  mind.  His  frown 
was  from  an  effort  to  remember  what  her  face  and 
voice  recalled.  At  last,  of  a  sudden,  the  clouds  van 
ished.  Into  his  puzzled  brain  poured  a  flood  of  light. 
The  frown  gave  way  to  a  smile  of  triumph  as  he  ex- 


ioo  Drowsy 

claimed,  holding  her  at  arm's  length  with  both  hands 
against  her  chest : 

"Oh,  I  know  now !     You  are  the  lady  of  last  night !" 

She  looked  up  at  Dr.  Alton  for  a  translation  but 
guessed  the  meaning.  And  when  it  came  she  nodded, 
laughed  and  confessed — but  in  a  language  Cyrus  did 
not  understand,  although  familiar  to  his  ears.  Seating 
herself  on  the  rustic  bench,  she  held  Cyrus  in  her  lap, 
and  with  Dr.  Alton  as  interpreter  they  conversed  to 
gether.  She  asked  many  questions  :  if  he  was  happy, 
in  good  health,  what  he  thought  and  how  he  spent  his 
time,  and  lots  of  other  things.  And  Cyrus  was  de 
lighted  to  learn  more  about  her  strange  adventures  of 
last  night.  And  to  know  that  the  wicked  man  with 
lavender  legs  could  do  her  no  harm. 

She  was  certainly  a  wonderful  lady,  as  charming 
now  as  in  the  story  of  last  night.  And  Cyrus  asked 
many  questions  about  that  story,  all  of  which  she  an 
swered.  Of  course,  it  was  slow  and  troublesome  not 
understanding  her  language — nor  she  his,  except  a 
few  words — but  Dr.  Alton  was  a  willing  translator. 
It  all  ended,  however,  in  an  unexpected  way.  After 
one  of  her  embraces,  more  affectionate  even  than  the 
others,  Cyrus  startled  his  two  companions  by  asking  in 
the  joyful  voice  that  comes  with  a  grand  discovery: — 

"Are  you  my  mother?" 

With  a  frightened  look  she  drew  back.  The  last 
word  she  understood.  Instead  of  answering  she 
glanced  up  at  his  father,  as  if  for  assistance.  Into  Dr. 


He  Meets  Two  Ladies         101 

Alton's  face,  also,  had  come  a  look  of  alarm;  then  a 
frown.  But  he  answered  pleasantly : 

"No — Cyrus.  No.  Why  should  you  ask  such  a 
question?" 

"Because  she  acts  just  as  Elmer  Snow's  mother 
acted  when  he  came  back  from  the  hospital." 

When  this  was  translated  she  leaned  back,  bowed 
her  head,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  When 
she  raised  her  head  there  were  fresh  tears  on  her 
cheeks. 

Cyrus  apologized.  "I  am  very  sorry.  I  didn't 
mean  anything — in  particular.  I  only — just  thought 
I'd  ask." 

She  patted  his  shoulder  to  assure  him  no  harm  was 
done. 

"This  lady,  Cyrus,  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said  his 
father.  "And  is  very  glad  to  see  you  and  is  sorry  you 
have  no  mother.  That's  all." 

Now  Cyrus  would  sooner  doubt  a  voice  from  heaven 
than  his  father's  word ;  and  any  one  could  easily  see 
that  the  lady  was  much  disturbed — so  much  disturbed 
that  it  shortened  the  interview.  The  parting  with  his 
father  seemed  painful  and  took  a  long  time.  Both 
had  much  to  say.  They  seemed  to  cling  to  each  other, 
and  he  kissed  her  several  times.  At  last,  after  a  tear 
ful  farewell  to  Cyrus,  with  a  long  embrace  in  which 
her  wet  cheeks  were  pressed  long  against  his  face,  she 
hurried  away. 

There  was  sorrow  in  his  drowsy  eyes  as  he  watched 
the  departing  figure.  No  woman  had  ever  treated  him 


102  Drowsy 

in  such  a  way,  and  he  had  begun  to  like  it.  Before 
she  disappeared  around  a  curve  in  the  path,  even  be 
fore  the  sound  of  her  pleasant  voice  had  died  away  in 
his  ears — something  happened ! 

A  fat,  gray  squirrel,  followed  by  another  fat,  gray 
squirrel  jumped  upon  the  bench  just  where  the  lady 
had  been  sitting!  And  there  they  sat  almost  within 
reach ! 

He  was  young.  Within  a  month  the  unexplained 
lady,  her  face,  her  voice  and  her  caresses  had  begun 
to  fade  from  his  unfledged  memory.  But  the  two  gray 
squirrels,  almost  within  reach,  sitting  up  with  their 
funny  little  hands  crossed  upon  their  portly  stomachs, 
he  remembered  clearly. 


VI 


HE  ALMOST  GETS  RELIGION 

CYRUS  was  in  bed. 
The  history  of  the  case  is  instructive  and 
should  be  a  warning  to  other  champions. 
On  a  certain  afternoon  in  the  fourteenth  year  of  this 
hero's  life  the  home  team  had  met  and  defeated  the 
baseball  club  from  a  neighboring  village.     The  score 
was  twenty  to  thirteen.     Such  a  victory  deserved  cele 
bration.     So  Cyrus,  with  half  a  dozen  fellow  cham 
pions,  went  to  Mrs.  Turner's  little  ice  cream  parlor  and 
regaled  themselves.     Each  boy  had  three  ice  creams* 
and  as  the  money  still  held  out  they  decided  on  a 
fourth.     But  Mrs.  Turner,  having  a  friendly  interest 
in  her  patrons,  declined  to  be  further  identified  with 
this  particular  debauch. 

To  victors  in  the  national  game  this  was  humiliating. 
Defeat  in  an  ice  cream  parlor,  after  triumph  on  the 
diamond,  was  not  to  be  accepted.  So  they  adjourned 
to  the  store  where  a  fresh  lot  of  cocoanut  cakes  had 

103 


IO4  Drowsy 

just  come  in.  These  cakes  were  not  dry  and  fly  blown 
like  their  predecessors.  They  were  fresh,  full  and 
well  rounded,  soft  and  juicy  and  nicely  browned  on 
top.  Wilbur  Cobb  said  he  could  eat  a  dozen.  But 
Cyrus,  familiar  with  the  deceptive  richness  of  cocoanut 
cakes,  said  no  boy  could  eat  a  dozen,  but  that  he,  Cyrus, 
could  eat  more  than  Wilbur.  This  aroused  the  sport 
ing  instinct  of  the  party  and  it  was  arranged,  on  the 
spot,  that  these  two  champions  should  compete.  The 
boy  who  ate  the  most  should  pay  nothing  toward  the 
cost  of  the  cakes.  The  cakes  were  two  cents  a  piece. 

Cyrus  won.  He  ate  nine  and  claimed,  with  justice, 
that  were  it  not  for  the  space  already  occupied  by  the 
ice  cream  and  sponge  cake  he  could  have  eaten  still 
more. 

Half  an  hour  later  these  same  boys,  in  passing 
through  Deacon  Bisbee's  orchard,  found  the  taste  of 
green  apples  cool  and  refreshing,  for  the  moment,  after 
the  somewhat  milky  fullness  caused  by  the  ice  cream 
and  cocoanut  cakes.  And  they  partook  with  reckless 
freedom.  What  exclamations  of  surprise  or  warning 
may  have  passed  between  those  hereditary  foes,  the  ice 
cream  and  green  apples,  when  the  apples  entered  those 
overworked  stomachs  is  not  recorded.  But  the  apples 
conquered  as  easily  as  the  Barbarians  when  they  en 
tered  Rome.  For  green  apples,  on  occasion,  resemble 
Truth  :  they  are  mighty  and  will  prevail.  And  Cyrus, 
after  starting  homeward,  began  to  feel,  in  that  region 
between  his  chest  and  legs,  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a 
football.  The  distention  was  painful.  Moreover,  as 


He  Almost  Gets  Religion       105 

he  hurried  on,  the  football  seemed  growing  bigger  and 
harder.  Also,  it  showed  signs  of  life.  From  his  in 
terior  came  rumblings ;  the  rumblings  that  precede  a 
storm.  All  through  this  central  zone,  this  sphere  of 
distention,  pains  were  starting  up,  sharp,  swift,  far 
reaching.  It  appeared  to  him  that  through  his  equator 
lightning  played.  At  first  these  playful  spasms  darted 
here  and  there  in  a  frolicsome  way — like  airy  nothings. 
Though  somewhat  threatening  and  reverberant  they 
did  not  alarm  him.  They  seemed  well  intentioned 
pains,  like  harmless  gleams  of  lightning  on  a  summer 
night.  But  these  spasms  became  less  friendly.  They 
grew  sharper  and  more  threatening.  Soon,  like  flashes 
in  a  real  storm,  they  were  shooting  here  and  there  as  if 
rending  him  asunder;  no  longer  playful,  but  the  kind 
of  lightning  that  rips  the  bark  from  trees,  tears  bricks 
from  chimneys,  and  spires  from  churches.  When 
near  his  own  home  this  storm  within  grew  fiercer  yet, 
and  wilder  in  its  fury.  So  sharp  the  agony  that  he 
clasped  the  afflicted  territory  with  both  his  hands,  .and 
leaned  for  support  against  a  fence. 

Never  before,  in  his  brief  career,  had  he  realized 
that  the  human  body  could  be  rent  and  plowed  and 
torn  to  shreds  without  killing  the  owner. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Eagan  came  along.  Mrs. 
Eagan  had  a  large  face,  a  large  chest,  large  hips  and 
a  large  heart.  And  she  was  carrying  a  large  basket— 
of  things  for  the  wash.  Cyrus  withdrew  his  hands 
from  that  region  where  the  tempest  raged,  straight 
ened  up,  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed.  And  it  was  done 


io6  Drowsy 

as  respectfully  as  if  Mrs.  Eagan  were  the  leading  lady 
of  the  land.  Mrs.  Eagan,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure, 
returned  the  salutation,  not  gracefully  perhaps,  for 
she  was  hampered  by  the  heavy  basket.  She  knew 
Cyrus,  and  she  knew  that  in  his  courtesy  to  her  sex 
he  made  no  distinctions.  She  knew  that  if  the  Queen 
of  Sheba  were  passing  at  the  same  moment,  the  Queen 
of  Sheba  would  have  received  an  obeisance  not  a  bit 
more  deferential  than  the  obeisance  to  Mrs.  Eagan. 
But  as  she  looked  more  carefully  at  the  boy's  face,  her 
friendly  eyes  saw  clearly  there  was  trouble. 

"Why,  Cyrus!  Are  ye  sick?  Ye  are  as  white  as 
a  sheet." 

"Yes'm."  He  spoke  in  a  fade-a-way  voice,  and  he 
smiled  from  sheer  force  of  will.  "I  feel  very — very — 
I  don't  know."  And  one  of  his  hands  moved  instinc 
tively  to  the  sphere  of  revolt.  His  head  drooped, 
partly  from  pain;  partly  from  shame  that  these  awful 
spasms  had  weakened  his  legs  and  might  effect  his 
courage. 

"  Tis  there  ye  are  sufferin'?     Tis  the  belly  ache?" 

Cyrus  nodded.     "Yes — Mrs.  Eagan — and  I  never — 

had — such  a—  The  lips  quivered,  his  head  sank 

lower  and  he  leaned  against  the   fence   for  support. 

Mrs.  Eagan  laid  down  her  basket.    Then  closer  to  the 

smaller  white  face  came  the  larger  red  one. 

"D'ye  feel  so  bad  as  that,  little  man?" 

Cyrus  nodded,  with  lips  tight  pressed  to  conceal  a 

quivering  he  could  not  control.     He  looked  into  the 

light  blue  eyes,  now  near  his  own,  and  tried  to  smile. 


He  Almost  Gets  Religion       107 

Mrs.  Eagan  said  no  more.  Cyrus  felt  an  arm  be 
hind  his  legs,  another  across  his  back,  and  he  was  lifted 
from  the  earth.  She  lifted  him  in  her  arms — as  Her 
cules  might  have  lifted  a  spring  lamb.  With  his  head 
against  her  shoulder  she  carried  him  easily  up  the  long 
driveway  to  his  own  home. 

There  were  sleepless  hours  that  night,  and  Cyrus 
did  some  unusual  thinking  on  important  subjects. 
For,  as  it  happened,  he  had  recently  read  portions 
of  the  Old  Testament,  quite  by  accident,  and  was 
much  impressed,  temporarily,  by  certain  statements  of 
the  Hebrew  fathers.  He  inferred  from  that  book  that 
the  Ruler  of  the  Universe  was  watchful  and  vindictive, 
and  dependent  upon  constant  praise ;  that  for  any 
dodging  of  this  praise  and  worship  hell  fire  and  eter 
nal  damnation  were  ordinary  penalties;  that  the  sins 
of  the  fathers  were  visited  upon  the  children,  forever 
and  ever — which  seemed  unfair.  The  impression  of 
all  this  upon  his  youthful  mind  was  that  any  person 
who  really  believed  these  things  must  be  either  impos 
sibly  good  or  scared  to  death.  While  in  good  health 
those  awful  utterances  did  not  worry  him.  Now,  how 
ever,  in  the  silent  hours  of  the  night,  weakened  by  the 
devastation  in  his  interior,  he  became  less  callous  to 
such  warnings.  Those  Hebrew  fathers,  backed  by  the 
vindictive  Almighty,  might  get  him  before  daylight 
and  consign  him,  forever,  to  the  fires  of  hell. 

But  at  last  he  slept.  And  when  he  awoke  the  sun 
was  shining  in  his  chamber — and  he  was  still  alive! 
However,  when  Joanna  came  up  with  his  toast  and  tea, 


io8  Drowsy 

and  sat  at  his  bedside,  he  was  still  haunted  by  the  awful 
prophecies  of  the  Hebrew  fathers  and  by  the  suspicion 
that  the  Avenging  Deity  might  still  have  an  eye  on  him. 

Joanna  was  a  well-built  woman  of  forty,  with  good 
features  and  an  honest  face.  For  nearly  twenty  years 
she  had  lived  in  the  Alton  family  as  housekeeper, 
nurse,  companion,  cook,  friend  and  servant :  and,  inci 
dentally,  as  mother  to  Cyrus.  While  Joanna's  educa 
tion  had  been  scanty,  her  common  sense  was  abundant. 
Her  attendance  at  church  was  regular,  and  Cyrus  felt, 
naturally,  that  her  views  on  Paradise  and  Purgatory 
could  be  relied  on.  So  he  asked  if  religious  people 
were  more  likely  to  get  to  heaven  than  other  folks. 

"Of  course,"  said  Joanna. 

"Which  kind  are  the  surest?" 

"The  Good  People." 

"I  mean,  which  kind  of  religion  is  the — is  the  saf 
est?" 

"Each  one  thinks  his  own  is." 

"Which  do  you  think,  Joanna?" 

"Congregationalist." 

"Is  that  yours?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  they  have  a  better  chance  than  Baptists  or 
Methodists  or  Unitarians?" 

"I  guess  they  do." 

"But  the  Unitarians  have  the  biggest  church." 

"Yes — in  this  village." 

"What  do  they  believe, — the  Unitarians?" 

Joanna  closed  her  eyes.     "Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  ex- 


He  Almost  Gets  Religion       109 

actly.  They  believe  something  about  God  being  the 
only  thing  to  worship — the  most  important  of  all." 

"Well— isn't  He?" 

"Why— er— yes." 

"What's  bigger?" 

Joanna  frowned.     "Bigger  than  what?" 

"Bigger  than  God  ?" 

"Why,  nothing,  I  suppose." 

Then  it  seems  to  me  He  is  the  One  to  be  friends 
with."  And  Cyrus  leaned  back  on  the  pillow,  and 
turned  his  face  toward  the  light.  Joanna  stroked  his 
head. 

"But  don't  you  worry,  little  boy.  You  are  not 
goin'  to  die  just  because  you  are  sick." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Of  course  I  am  sure,  so  is  your  father  sure.  To 
morrow  you  will  be  all  well  again." 

"Yes,  but  I  shall  die  some  day  and  I  might  as  well 
be  ready.  You  think  the  Congregashalists  have  the 
best  chance  of  getting  to  heaven." 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  be  one.     What  do  I  have  to  do?" 

"Nothing,  but  just  go  to  church." 

"Is  God  a  Congregashalist  ?" 

Joanna  hesitated.     "Well — nobody  really  knows." 

"Not  even  a  minister?" 

"Perhaps  he  would.  But  you  have  asked  enough 
questions.  Now  try  and  go  to  sleep." 

Cyrus  obeyed,  and  slept.  But  that  evening  when  his 
father  came  up  and  was:  sitting  by  the  bed  he  made 


no  Drowsy 

further  efforts  to  get  light  on  the  darkest  of  all  sub 
jects.  Dr.  Alton,  however,  saw  signs  of  a  feverish 
excitement  in  the  usually  calm  eyes  of  the  invalid,  and 
he  decided  upon  a  soothing  course  of  religious  instruc 
tion.  He  knew  that  this  sudden  thirst  for  knowledge 
in  a  fresh  field  could  not  be  allayed  by  any  off-hand 
advice  to  forget  and  slumber.  So  with  a  smiling  face 
he  answered  questions  as  if  the  matter  in  hand  was 
of  no  immediate  importance. 

"Father,  was  Jesus  so  very  good?"  Cyrus  began. 

"Yes,  indeed  !     The  best  of  men !" 

"He  wasn't  better  than  you,  I  bet." 

"Indeed  he  was,  Cyrus ;  very,  very  much  better." 

"Ho!"  said  the  boy;  "I  don't  believe  it." 

Dr.  Alton  explained,  in  few  words,  certain  impor 
tant  differences  between  Our  Savior  and  other  men. 
Cyrus  listened,  and  understood ;  then  inquired : 

"Was  He  a  Congregashalist?" 

"Dr.  Alton  smiled,  and  shook  his  head.  ''Never, 
Cyrus!  Never!  He  couldn't  have  been  if  he  tried. 
And  He  was  not  the  man  to  try.  There  was  no  cruelty 
in  him.  He  was  all  forgiveness." 

"Then  he  must  have  been  a  Unitarian,  a  Piscopalian. 
or  Baptist  or  Methodist — or  something  like  that." 

Dr.  Alton  closed  his  eyes  and  stroked  his  chin. 

"No — I  should  say  not.  He  might  possibly  have 
been  a  Universalist,  or  a  Unitarian.  But  why  are 
you  so  interested  in  religion  all  of  a  sudden?  Afraid 
you  are  going  to  die?" 

"No,  not  now.     But  all  last  night  I  was  afraid." 


He  Almost  Gets  Religion       in 

His  father  took  one  of  the  small  hands  in  both  his 
own  and  smiled  into  the  invalid's  adoring  face. 
"There's  no  hurry  about  choosing  your  creed,  little 
man.  Benevolent  Creators  are  not  punishing  children 
for  theological  errors.  But  we  can  talk  it  all  over 
later,  when  you  are  well." 

Cyrus  also  smiled — "But  tell  me,  father,  just  for 
fun,  what  religion  is  the  best?" 

"Well,  Cyrus,  that's  hard  to  say.  There  are  many 
to  choose  from." 

"Why,  I  thought  the  Christian  religion  was  the  only 
real  one." 

"Well,  that's  what  the  Christians  think — naturally." 

Cyrus  frowned.     "But  what's  the  use  of  so  many?" 

"No  use  whatever.  One  good  one  would  be  enough 
for  everybody — and  save  heaps  of  trouble." 

"But  the  Christian  religion  is  the  best,  isn't  it — to 
go  to  heaven  with?" 

"That's  hard  to  say.  Nobody  really  knows.  It's 
a  good  Sunday  religion,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  work  so 
well  week  days." 

"I  guess  it's  safer  than  any  of  the  others,  isn't  it?" 

"Possibly.  But  you  needn't  decide  in  a  hurry,  Cy 
rus.  Take  your  time  and  look  around  a  little." 

"Do  people  always  look  around  before  choosing 
their  religion?" 

Dr.  Alton  laughed.  "No,  they  do  not.  In  fact,  it 
is  considered  a  sign  of  moral  depravity  to  think  too 
much  for  yourself  in  those  matters.  To  be  at  peace 
with  mankind  you  must  follow  your  neighbors.  It  is 


112  Drowsy 

all  merely  a  matter  of  geography.  When  you  know 
the  name  of  the  country  you  know  their  religious  be 
liefs.  There  is  not  much  thinking  done." 

"That's  funny,"  said  Cyrus.  "But  a  Christian  is 
lots  better  than  any  of  the  others — isn't  he?" 

Again  Dr.  Alton  smiled.  "Well,  he  himself  thinks 
he  is.  But  all  virtue  is  not  centered  in  the  Christian. 
When  you  get  up  to-morrow  and  wish  to  get  well  and 
strong  you  will  begin  to  eat  again,  won't  you?" 

"Gracious!     I  guess  I  will!     I  could  eat  a  house." 

"Yes,  you  will  be  hungry  enough.  And  you  will 
feel  like  eating  quite  a  variety  of  things,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  won't  I!"  And  as  Cyrus  spoke  the  pallor  of 
the  Saint  was  submerged  in  a  glow  of  fleshly  desire. 

"Good !  And  you  shall  have  it !  Now  we  will  play, 
for  a  minute,  that  Christianity  is  pie." 

"Is  what?" 

"Is  pie.  Just  pie.  But  there  are  various  creeds  of 
pie  among  the  Christians ;  there's  apple,  pumpkin, 
mince,  squash,  cocoanut,  and  all  the  others." 

"Me  for  cocoanut!"  exclaimed  the  invalid.  "Cocoa- 
nut  pie  beats  'em  all!" 

"That's  a  matter  of  taste.  But  you  prefer  coacoa- 
nut  pie  to  all  the  others?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"Very  well.  Now  there's  apple  for  Methodist, 
mince  for  Episcopalian,  cocoanut  for  Unitarian, 
pumpkin  for  Congregationalist,  and  so  on,  through 
the  list." 

Cyrus  laughed.    "And  which  are  you  ?" 


He  Almost  Gets  Religion       113 

"I  haven't  decided  yet.  But  you  must  stick  to  your 
colors  and  have  more  faith  in  cocoanut  than  in  all 
the  others." 

"Oh,  yes!     That's  easy!" 

"And  so  you  eat  nothing  but  cocoanut  pie." 

"Nothing  else  at  all?" 

"Nothing  else.  So  long  as  you  are  a  Christian  you 
must  stick  to  your  creed.  You  must  feel  considerably 
wiser  and  better  than  outsiders  who  are  eating  grapes, 
and  roast  turkey  and  custards  and  watermelons,  and 
pudding  and  ice  cream,  and  all  who  eat  anything  ex 
cept  your  one  kind  of  pie." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that!" 

"But  you  must,  if  you  want  to  be  a  true  defender  of 
your  cocoanut  creed.  For  all  the  others  are  outsiders. 
Those  pudding,  turkey,  grapes,  custard  and  ice  cream 
people  don't  believe  in  your  pie." 

Cyrus  slowly  shook  his  head  and  pushed  out  his  lips. 
"I  couldn't  despise  people  for  eating  things  they  liked." 

"Neither  could  I,  Cyrus.  So,  for  the  present,  any 
way,  we  will  eat  whatever  we  want  to.  And  we  are 
just  as  sure  of  going  to  Heaven  as  if  we  stuck  to  one 
kind  of  pie." 

"Yes,  we  will,"  declared  the  invalid,  and  in  his  face 
and  voice  had  come  the  enthusiasm  of  fresh  hopes 
and  a  new  life.  "If  our  minister,"  he  said,  "would 
talk  like  that  in  the  pulpit,  about  roast  turkey  and  ice 
cream  and  things  to  eat,  it  would  be  more — more  in 
teresting.  Wouldn't  it?" 

Dr.  Alton  bent  over  Cyrus  and  kissed  him  good 


H4  Drowsy 

night.  "Yes,  but  he  wouldn't  dare — unless  his  con 
gregation  consisted  of  empty  boys." 

The  father's  diagnosis  was  correct :  his  treatment  a 
success.  During  that  short  half  hour  the  patient  had 
been  converted  from  a  terrified  sinner  to  a  hopeful 
gourmand.  The  anxious  look  had  left  his  eyes.  The 
lips  were  smiling. 

And  that  night,  instead  of  fitful  wakings  inter 
spersed  with  dreams  of  hell  and  Hebrew  prophets,  of 
death,  damnation  and  eternal  punishment,  he  slept  a 
solid,  tranquil  sleep.  And  such  dreams  as  came  were 
happy  dreams.  He  dreamed  of  puddings  of  the  rich 
est  kind,  of  turkeys  all  stuffed  and  ready;  of  various 
pies,  of  custard,  of  pastry,  and  of  ice  cream,  all  of 
which  he  ate,  and  ate — and  ate.  And  lying  Hat  upon 
his  stomach  on  a  sponge-cake  raft  he  floated  in  a  sea 
of  pineapple  sherbet.  He  would  bite  off  edges  of  the 
raft,  then,  with  his  whole  face  in  the  boundless  ocean, 
he  would  suck  up  long  gulps  of  this  divine  material. 
And  his  permanent  residence  was  in  a  cocoanut  palace 
against  a  mountain  of  vanilla  ice  cream. 

When  morning  came,  and  he  awoke  and  sat  up  in 
bed,  he  was  himself  again.  In  the  sunshine  of  his 
room  the  bottomless  pit  had  lost  its  menace.  His 
spirit,  refreshed  by  slumber  and  now  guided  by  his 
nose,  ignored  the  fires  of  Purgatory  and  was  hovering 
over  the  more  friendly  heat  of  Joanna's  kitchen  stove. 

A  few  days  later,  when  he  was  curled  up  at  one  end 
of  the  sofa  with  a  book,  he  asked :  "What  is  the  trans 
migration  of  souls?" 


"A   COCOANUT  PALACE  AGAINST  A  MOUNTAIN  OF  VANILLA   ICE  CRKAM" 

-f.ier  114 


He  Almost  Gets  Religion       115 

Dr.  Alton  explained. 

Then  Cyrus,  after  a  good  look  into  the  face  of  the 
dog  beside  him :  "Whose  soul  do  you  suppose  is  in 
Zac?" 

"That's  a  hard  one,  Cyrus.  I  could  only  guess 
at  it." 

"But  it  means  for  dogs,  too,  doesn't  it?" 

"It  certainly  ought.  I  shouldn't  accept  it  unless  it 
did." 

"Then  I  say  that  whatever  soul  came  into  Zac  was 
the  soul  of  a  mighty  good  man." 

"Yes— no  doubt  about  that." 

"Just  think!     Zac  may  be  George  Washington!" 

"Well — you  can't  be  too  sure.  You  have  all  the 
good  people  in  history  to  choose  from,  you  know." 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  guess,  after  all,  he  isn't  George 
Washington.  He  is  quicker  and  jumps  about  more." 
Then  after  another  look  into  the  dog's  adoring  face: 
"Besides,  I  don't  believe  any  great  man  in  history 
would  be  so  awful  fond  of  me  as  Zac  is." 

"Oh,  he  might  be.  Washington  would  have  liked 
you,  I  think ;  although  he  might  not  have  followed  you 
about  so  closely." 

Other  famous  men  were  mentioned :  the  Emperor 
Augustus,  Magellan,  Shakespeare,  Daniel  Boone  and 
Fenimore  Cooper — also  Joan  of  Arc.  But  it  was 
agreed  by  both  father  and  son  that  the  best  known 
characteristics  of  those  persons  were  not  sufficiently 
obvious  in  Zac  to  make  a  clear  case. 


VII 

TOWARD  THE  LIGHT 

THE  snow  lay  deep — and  still  it  fell. 
On  a  low  stone  wall  by  the  roadside  Ruth  Hey- 
wood  sat  in  solemn  meditation.     With  melan 
choly  eyes  she  watched  the  door  of  the  little  red  school 
house  a  hundred  yards  away.     On  the  porch  of  that 
school  house   shivered   Zac,   also   waiting.      He,   too, 
kept  his  eyes  on  the  door,  but  he  had  no  intention  of 
rebuking  the  prisoner — should  he  ever  appear.     Why 
try  to  improve  an  already  perfect  thing? 

Above  Ruth's  head  the  North  Wind,  moaning 
through  the  leafless  branches  of  the  maples,  played 
dirge-like  airs.  Now,  late  in  the  afternoon,  the  dark 
ening  sky  seemed  bearing  down  upon  the  snow-cov 
ered  earth.  And  Ruth's  thoughts  were  all  in  harmony 
with  the  world  about  her.  There  was  reason  for  a 
joyless  face.  More  experienced  women  than  Ruth 
had  found  sorrow  and  defeat  in  acting  as  guardian 
angel  to  erring  males. 

116 


Toward  the  Light  117 

Other  children  had  gone  home.  Cyrus  was  being 
held  in  punishment.  And  the  punishment  was  just. 
The  Guardian  Angel  disliked  this  business,  but  Cyrus 
had  no  mother,  aunt  or  sister,  and  his  father,  being 
only  a  man,  did  not  realize  the  situation.  Therefore, 
it  seemed  clear  to  Ruth  that  she  was  the  chosen  instru 
ment  by  which  Cyrus  was  to  be  rescued  from  a  career 
of  shame  and  failure. 

At  last  the  boy  appeared.  Zac  bounced  with  joy, 
stirring  the  snowy  air  with  cries  of  welcome.  And 
Cyrus,  glad  as  any  other  prisoner  to  be  again  at  liberty, 
came  running  after. 

Ruth  walked  out  into  the  road  and  stood  before  him. 
As  he  stopped  there  was  a  smile  on  his  face,  the  old 
familiar  smile  of  the  guilty,  who  hope  to  soften  the 
face  of  Justice.  But  Justice  was  not  beguiled.  On 
the  face  of  the  Guardian  Angel  came  no  returning 
smile.  Instead,  with  accusing  eyes,  she  slowly  shook 
her  head. 

"Cyrus,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"Why?" 

"You  know  very  well  why.  You  are  bad,  very  bad, 
and  teacher  was  right  to  keep  you  after  school  and 
punish  you." 

Cyrus  gave  up  smiling.  He  reached  forth  and 
toyed  with  one  of  the  horn  buttons  on  the  Guardian 
Angel's  coat.  "I  don't  think  I  am  bad  just  because 
I  hate  that  geography." 

"It's  your  duty  to  learn  it  whether  you  hate  it  or 
not.  You  will  grow  up  an  ignorant,  good-for-nothing 


n8  Drowsy 

man  unless  you  study  your  lessons.  Everybody  knows 
that.  You  ought  to  go  straight  home  and  tell  your 
father  you  have  been  kept  after  school.  Just  tell  him 
all  about  it.  Will  you?" 

There  was  a  puckering  of  the  boy's  mouth,  but  no 
answer. 

"If  you  were  stupid,  and  couldn't  learn  if  you  tried, 
it  would  be  different,  but  you  are  just  perverse  and— 
and  bad.  If  you  don't  do  better  I  shall  just  go  and 
tell  your  father  myself." 

"Oh,  Ruthy!  You  wouldn't  do  that!"  And  he  let 
go  the  button  and  took  a  backward  step,  as  one  who 
shrinks  from  a  faithless  friend. 

"But  it's  for  your  own  good,  Drowsy.  And,  be 
sides,  teacher  will  tell  him  if  I  don't." 

"I  s'pose  she  would." 

"You  don't  want  to  grow  up  and  know  less  than 
anybody  else — even  less  than  school  children?" 

Cyrus  smiled.     "That  ivould  be  funny!" 

"No,  it  would  not  be  funny.  Do  you  think  it  would 
be  funny  to  dig  ditches  all  your  life  and  drive  oxen 
like  old  Sim  Barker?" 

"But  what  makes  him  so  bad  is  because  he's  foolish 
and  dirty  and  has  tobacco  juice  in  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  Geography  wouldn't  help  him — nor  anybody 
else.  Geography!"  And  Cyrus  uttered  the  word 
with  a  fathomless  contempt.  "That  geography  just 
makes  me  sick — just  sick,  sick,  sick — and  mad !  What 
stuff  it  tells  you!  Which  is  the  largest  African  Lake? 
Where  are  the  Barbary  States  ?  What  about  the  suj- 


Toward  the  Light  119 

face  of  Abyssinia?  What  are  the  products  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope?  Who  in  thunder  cares  for  the 
climate  of  Uruguay  or  the  exports  of  Ecuador? 
Who'd  ever  be  such  a  fool  as  to  want  to  remember  the 
population  of  Thibet?  And  who  cares  anyway?  Any 
jackass  can  know  those  things  whenever  he  wants  to 
by  looking  at  a  map  or  that  fool  geography." 

"Oh,  Cyrus,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that !" 

But  the  revolutionist  went  on.  "Why  don't  they 
tell  us  things  worth  remembering?  Look  at  my  les 
son  to-day!  The  Island  of  Madagascar!  Who  in 
thunder  wants  to  know  about  the  products  of  Mada 
gascar?  Hoh!  It  makes  me  sick!" 

"But,  Drowsy,  Madagascar  is  an  important  island 
and- 

"Important  grandmother !  Any  fool  can  read  about 
it.  Why  don't  they  tell  me  things  I  want  to  know  ?" 

"What  thing  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"I  want  to  know  things  that  other  people  don't 
know.  I  want  to  know  how  the  earth  looks  when  you 
are  standing  on  the  moon.  I  want  to  know  what's 
lying  in  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  the  Tiber — all  the 
bronze  and  gold  and  marble  things ;  and  what  sort  of 
people  live  on  the  other  planets,  and  why  cats  and  dogs 
can  see  in  the  dark.  And  if  God  is  good  and  not  mean 
—why  did  he  make  Bobby  Carter  a  hunchback  ?" 

"Oh,  Cyrus!     It's  wicked  to  talk  like  that!" 

"No,  it  isn't.  I'm  only  asking  about  it.  I'm  only 
asking  why  teacher  doesn't  tell  us  things  worth  know 
ing.  I  want  to  know  what  would  happen  if  you  dug 


I2O  Drowsy 

a  well  through  the  center  of  the  earth.  Would  a  stone 
keep  on  dropping  till  it  came  out  the  other  side?'' 

"That  is  gravity,"  said  Ruth  in  her  wisest  manner, 
glad  of  a  chance  to  hold  her  position  as  mentor. 

"Yes,  but  the  name  doesn't  help  any.  If  I  got  into 
a  big  cannon  ball  and  was  shot  up  into  the  air  how 
many  hundreds  of  miles  would  I  go  before  I  would  fall 
back?  And  if  you  should  go  up  in  a  balloon  a  mile 
high  I  want  to  know  if  you  would  stay  still  and  see 
the  earth  going  round  and  round  beneath  you  or  would 
you  have  to  go  with  it — and  Massachusetts  always  just 
underneath." 

"There's  no  use  in  knowing  that." 

"Yes,  there  is.  When  I'm  grown  up  I  may  do  some 
thing  like  it." 

Ruth  laughed.  "You  silly  boy!  Nobody  ever  did 
such  a  thing." 

"But  /  may.  Lots  of  things  have  been  done  that 
were  never  done  before.  And  mighty  surprisin' 
things,  too!" 

There  was  no  denying  this.  So  Ruth,  for  want  of 
words,  merely  gazed  upon  him  in  sorrow  and  disap 
proval,  as  any  Conservative  might  gaze  upon  any  Radi 
cal.  Before  she  could  frame  a  speech  to  fit  the  look 
the  orator  again  rushed  on.  He  spoke  rapidly  and 
with  feeling.  The  drowsy  eyes  became  wider  open. 
His  hands  with  the  gray  mittens  moved  freely  in  the 
snowy  air.  To  Ruth  it  was  a  sudden  transformation 
of  a  prospective  ignoramus  into  an  inspired  orator. 
In  a  higher,  thinner  voice  he  demanded :  "What  makes 


"I  WANT  TO   KNOW   HOW  THE   EARTH   LOOKS  WHEN    YOU    ARE    STANDING 
ON   THE   MOON"— Pact  II1) 


Toward  the  Light  121 

one  kind  of  electricity  do  what  another  kind  can't? 
And  if  men  are  so  smart,  why  didn't  they  use  electric 
ity  thousands  of  years  ago  instead  of  just  now?  The 
air  has  always  been  full  of  it." 

This  was  an  interesting  question.  But  the  Guardian 
Angel  had  no  answer  ready. 

"And  what  makes  light  travel  so  fast?  Why,  just 
think  of  it,  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  miles  in  one 
second !  And  heat.  There's  lots  to  learn  about  heat. 
Why  do  folks  burn  wood  and  coal  in  winter  instead 
of  storing  up  heat  in  summer  when  there's  too  much 
of  it.  They  keep  ice  all  summer.  And  why  not  keep 
heat  all  winter?  And  just  look  at  sunshine!  Why 
not  keep  some  overnight  to  read  by?  I  could  do  it 
if  I  was  a  man." 

The  orator  paused  to  get  his  breath. 

"But,  Cyrus,  perhaps  you  can  learn  all  those  things 
later." 

"But  I  want  to  know  'em  now.  Not  the  things  I've 
just  been  reciting,  the  climate  of  Texas,  the  crops  of 
New  South  Wales  and  the  population  of  Wurtemburg. 
Hoh !  I  could  be  a  teacher  myself  and  tell  things  every 
body  knows  already.  Teachers  are  no  smarter  than 
anybody  else.  I  asked  her  why  some  families,  like 
the  Herricks,  have  all  boys  and  other  families  all  girls." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  just  couldn't  tell  me.  And  she  didn't  like  it 
when  I  asked  her  why  God,  who  knows  everything, 
should  do  foolish  things." 

"Oh,  Cyrus!" 


122  Drowsy 

"Well,  he  makes  warm  days  in  April  to  start  things 
going,  then  sends  a  sudden  frost  and  nips  the  blossoms 
and  kills  the  crops.  Any  fool  farmer  knows  better 
than  that." 

Ruth  frowned.  "You  should  not  say  such  things." 
But  the  orator  ignored  the  rebuke.  "Instead  of  tell 
ing  me  about  the  wrecks  and  ruins  and  the  treasures 
and  the  forests  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  teacher  tells 
me  how  many  bales  of  cotton  and  barrels  of  molasses 
come  from  Alabama.  Why,  Ruthy,  at  the  Island  of 
St.  Helena  the  ocean  is  nearly  six  miles  deep!" 

"But,  Cyrus,  nobody  really  knows  just  what  lies  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ocean." 

"Hoh!  That's  just  it.  Teacher  stuffs  us  with 
things  everybody  knows.  All  the  easy  things.  Any 
cow  or  any  hen  can  know  'em.  I  want  the  other 
things.  If  she's  a  teacher  she  ought  to  know  about 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  She  ought  to  tell  us  about  At 
lantis.  There's  be  some  fun  in  that." 

"Atlantis?" 

"Yes.  That  was  the  big  island  out  in  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  that  suddenly  disappeared.  It  sank  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  sea.  Don't  you  remember?" 

Ruth  was  honest  and  slowly  shook  her  head.  Yet 
she  knew  that  her  position  as  mentor,  spiritual  guide 
and  good  example  became  weaker  should  the  ignora 
mus  she  was  rebuking  display  more  learning  than 
herself. 

But  Cyrus  was  too  much  absorbed  in  the  bigness  of 
his  subject  to  think  of  himself  or  other  trifles.  "Why, 


• 


4>. 


"AND  NOW.  TODAY,  DOWN  AT  THK  BOTTOM  OF  THK  OCEAN.  THOSE  CITIES 
AM)  THOSE  MARBLE  TEMPLES  ARE  STILL   STAMMM;"       I'.igf  /- -< 


Toward  the  Light  123 

Ruthy,  it  was  a  whole  kingdom,  this  island — a  con 
tinent.  It  was  covered  with  beautiful  temples,  whole 
cities  and  lots  of  people.  And  all  of  a  sudden — no 
body  knows  why — it  disappeared  beneath  the  waves! 
And  now,  to-day,  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean 
those  cities  and  those  marble  temples  are  still  stand- 
ing!" 

"Where  was  this  island?" 

"Off  to  the  west  of  Spain,  and  Africa.  People 
think  the  Azores  and  the  Canary  Islands  are  the  tops 
of  mountains  of  that  sunken  country." 

Ruth  said  nothing,  but  the  enchanting  eyes  spoke 
plainly  of  surprise  and  wonder.  "When  did  that  hap 
pen?" 

"Way  back  in  ancient  times ;  before  Greece  began." 

The  enthusiasm  of  Cyrus  produced  its  effect  on 
Ruth,  and  the  earnest  eyes  of  Ruth  had  their  usual  ef 
fect  on  Cyrus.  He  laid  one  of  his  hands,  in  its  gray 
worsted  mitten,  against  the  Guardian  Angel's  chest. 
"And,  Ruthy,  just  think  of  those  white  marble  tem 
ples  !  Just  think  of  the  streets  and  houses !  Think 
of  all  the  statues  and  the  helmets,  shields  and  swords 
and  spears  all  lying  around  down  there  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean!  Think  of  all  the  ornaments  in  gold  and 
silver !  And  think,  that  in  those  great  white  cities  with 
all  their  treasure,  coral  and  sea  plants  grow  instead  of 
trees !  And  the  only  living  things  are  fishes  swimming 
in  and  out  among  the  statues  and  the  monuments,  the 
palaces,  the  forums  and  the  ampitheaters." 


124  Drowsy 

The  orator  drew  a  long  breath,  then  in  a  lower  tone : 
"I'd  give  anything  to  spend  a  day  in  that  place." 

Little  batches  of  snow  had  gathered  on  the  heads  and 
shoulders  of  the  two  children.  For  a  moment  they 
stood  in  silence,  Ruth  gazing  thoughtfully  at  Cyrus, 
Cyrus  gazing  in  anger  and  contempt  toward  the  school 
house. 

At  this  point  there  came  a  sudden  change  in  the 
Guardian  Angel's  manner.  She  realized  the  necessity 
for  different  tactics.  Familiar  with  Cyrus's  astonish 
ing  cleverness  in  argument  she  suspected  that  he  was 
justifying  his  own  guilt  by  this  dazzling  display  of 
wisdom.  Then  came  a  swift  transformation  in  the 
irresistible  eyes,  from  sympathy  to  rebuke. 

"Stop,"  she  said. 

Cyrus  stopped — midway  in  a  sentence. 

"Those  reasons  you  can  tell  to  teacher.  They  are 
no  excuse  for  being  a  lazy  boy ;  I  shall  tell  your  father 
unless  you  do  better." 

Then  she  turned  and  walked  away,  striking  her  cold 
hands  together  for  warmth.  Cyrus  followed,  treacl 
ing  the  narrow  path  in  the  snow  made  by  horse's  feet. 

But  shivering  Zac,  who  had  good  excuse  for  shiv 
ering  after  his  long  wait  on  the  windy  porch,  ran  joy 
fully  ahead.  He  had  borne  with  patience  this  long 
delay.  Cyrus  picked  up  a  handful  of  snow  and 
molded  it  into  a  ball.  As  they  were  passing  the  store 
he  caught  Ruth  by  a  sleeve  and  pointed  to  a  boy  more 
than  a  hundred  feet  away.  The  boy  was  stooping  over 
a  sled. 


Toward  the  Light  125 

"What'll  you  bet  I  can't  hit  Luther  from  here?" 
Now  Cyrus  was  a  surprisingly  good  shot.  He 
seemed  able  to  hit  whatever  he  fired  at,  and  from  un 
believable  distances.  His  surprising  accuracy  in  this 
direction  had  made  him  pitcher  on  the  village  nine. 
But  Ruth,  remembering  her  role  as  Guardian  Angel, 
merely  turned  about  and  started  on  again  in  dignified 
silence.  But  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes  she  watched 
the  unsuspecting  Luther,  for  she  knew  the  missile 
would  reach  its  mark.  Her  silent  prophecy  was  cor 
rect.  Through  the  snowy  air  the  missile  flew.  It 
landed,  with  force,  on  the  victim's  back,  just  below  his 
neck.  He  straightened  up  and  looked  about.  Then 
with  a  shout  of  defiance  he  scooped  a  handful  of  snow, 
quickly  rolled  it  into  a  ball  and  sent  it  toward  the 
enemy.  Here  the  unexpected  happened.  The  snow 
ball,  thrown  in  a  hurry,  would  have  missed  Cyrus  by 
a  yard  or  more  even  had  Fate  allowed  it  to  go  its  way. 
But  Deacon  Phineas  Whitlock  intervened.  This  stern 
old  puritan  of  ferocious  aspect,  of  iron  will  and  des 
potic  temper,  the  terror  of  children  and  of  all  other 
habitual  sinners,  \vas  just  passing  Cyrus  in  solemn  dig 
nity,  toward  the  store. 

The  snowy  sphere  forwarded  by  Luther  landed  full 
upon  the  deacon's  mouth.  And,  as  the  deacon's  mouth 
happened  to  be  partly  open  at  the  time — from  his  habit 
of  preaching  to  himself — he  received  within  it  a  por 
tion  of  the  missile  as  it  smashed  and  spread  about  his 
face.  Swiftly  he  wiped  his  face  with  the  back  of  a 
hand.  His  temper  was  a  hot  one.  Luther  knew  it, 


126  Drowsy 

and  he  grabbed  the  rope  to  his  sled  and  disappeared 
down  the  hill  behind  the  store,  with  a  velocity  no 
elderly  deacon  could  hope  to  attain.  Spluttering  and 
wiping  snow  from  his  mouth  and  nose  he  turned 
threatening  eyes  on  Cyrus.  In  a  voice  between  a  gasp 
and  a  shout  of  rage  he  demanded  : 

"Who  is  that  boy?"  Who  is  he?  What's  his 
name?" 

Cyrus  shook  his  head.     "I  don't  know,  sir." 

"Yes,  you  do!     Who  is  he?     What's  his  name?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.     Honestly  I  don't." 

"Don't  know,  you  young  rascal !  You  have  eyes. 
What's  his  name?" 

But  Cyrus,  with  a  protesting,  most  polite  and  sor 
rowful  gesture  with  both  his  hands,  again  proclaimed 
his  ignorance.  "I  really  don't  know,  sir.  The  air 
is  so  full  of  snow  I  didn't  see  his  face." 

Deacon  Whitlock  again  spluttered.  His  speech  was 
incoherent,  but  doubt  and  anger  were  plainly  indicated. 
However,  he  turned  away — still  muttering. 

Then  the  Guardian  Angel  approached  the  liar.  "Cy 
rus  Alton !  How  can  you  do  such  a  thing?" 

"What  thing?" 

"Deacon  Whitlock  knows  perfectly  well  you  knew 
who  it  was,  and  that  you  told  him  a  lie.  And  he  will 
despise  you  for  it.  So  would  everybody  else.  So  do 
I  despise  you  for  it." 

His  only  answer  to  this  was  a  look  of  mingled  sor 
row  and  remonstrance.  Then,  instead  of  trying  to 
defend  himself,  as  the  Guardian  Angel  expected,  he 


Toward  the  Light  127 

looked  away.  He  also  heaved  a  sigh, — a  sigh  of 
weariness  and  discouragement,  an  unboylike,  elderly 
sigh  such  as  grown-ups  use. 

The  Guardian  Angel  continued.  "And  I  should 
think  you  would  be  ashamed  to  be  such  a  coward." 

Cyrus  stiffened  at  the  word.     "A  coward!" 

''Yes,  coward.  People  only  lie  when  they  are  afraid. 
If  you  had  been  brave  you  would  have  told  the  truth." 

"But,  Ruthy,  you  don't  understand.  I  did  it  to  save 
Luther.  If  Deacon  Whitlock  knew  who  it  was  he 
would  tell  Luther's  father  and  Luther  might  get  a 
lickin'." 

Ruth  shook  her  head.  "Your  duty  was  to  tell  the 
truth — or  say  nothing." 

"No,  sirree!  That  isn't  true.  The  Bible  says  do 
unto  others  as  you'd  like  to  have  other  fellers  do  unto 
you.  And  I  did  just  what  I  would  want  Luther  to  do 
for  me." 

This  line  of  defense  was  confusing,  and  Ruth  was 
familiar  with  his  skill  in  argument.  She  knew  well 
enough  the  pitfalls  he  could  dig  for  the  embarrass 
ment  of  any  adversary.  So,  regarding  him  with  the 
sternest  look  she  could  bring  into  a  very  gentle  face, 
she  said : 

"It  is  wrong  to  tell  lies  and  you  know  it  is.  And 
you  are  bad — just  bad.  Why  don't  you  button  up 
your  coat  in  front?  The  snow  is  actually  blowing 
down  your  neck." 

And  she  drew  the  collar  of  his  overcoat  closer  about 
his  throat  and  tried  to  fasten  it.  "Why,  the  button  is. 


128  Drowsy 

gone!  Joanna  ought  to  see  to  it.  Yon  really  ought 
to  have  a  mother,  Drowsy.  You  aren't  half  taken 
care  of." 

This  time  Cyrus  had  nothing  to  say  in  his  own  de 
fense.  She  laid  a  hand  against  his  cheek.  "Your  face 
is  hot.  I  believe  you  are  sick  now!" 

Cyrus  smiled,  and  nodded.  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
I  was." 

"Why?     How  do  you  feel?" 

"Oh,  sort  of — sort  of — funny." 

"How,  funny?" 

"I  don't  know.  Sort  of  cold  and  then  hot  and  then 
cold — and  kind  of  trembly.  That's  why  I  didn't  hit 
Luther  on  the  head  instead  of  down  on  his  back." 

"Now,  Cyrus  Alton,  you  go  straight  home  and  tell 
your  father  just  how  you  feel.  Tell  him  all  about  it." 
Then,  with  increasing  severity :  "It's  a  shame  you 
haven't  got  a  mother.  I  believe  it  is  because  you  are 
bad  and  that's  the  way  God  punishes  you." 

Then  she  turned  away  and  started  on  again,  Cyrus 
close  behind.  In  front  of  her  own  home  she  stopped 
suddenly  and  wheeled  about ; — so  suddenly  that  Cyrus 
walked  against  her.  He  took  a  backward  step,  and  as 
they  looked  into  each  other's  faces  he  said,  quietly : 

"No,  it  doesn't." 

Ruth's  eyes  opened  wide,  in  surprise.  "Doesn't 
what?" 

"It  doesn't  mean  what  you  asked." 

"But,  Drowsy,  I  didn't  ask  anything!" 

"You  thought  it,  though." 


Toward  the  Light  129 

'Thought  what?" 

"That  because  I  told  lies  now  I  would  not  be  an  hon 
est  man  when  I  grew  up.  But  that  isn't  so.  I  shall 
be  an  honest  man." 

"Yes,  but  I  hadn't  spoken  a  word.  How  could  you 
tell  what  I  was  going  to  say?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno.     I  can  often  do  that." 

"Yes,  you  have  done  it  before,  but  how  do  you  do  it? 
How  do  you  know?  Just  guess  at  it?" 

"No.  It  sort  of  comes — as  if — well — just  the  usual 
way — only  without  the  words  waiting  to  be  spoken. 
I  guess  it's  natural  enough." 

"Natural  enough !  Why,  it's  most  mysterious. 
Nobody  else  does  it." 

"Oh,  p'r'aps  lots  of  people  do  it.  We  don't  know 
everybody." 

"But  if  many  people  did  it  we  should  have  heard 
about  them.  No,  it's  very  mysterious.  Why,  Drowsy, 
I  had  just  opened  my  lips  to  say  your  being  such  a 
liar  now  proves  you  will  be  a  dishonest  man  and  you 
said,  before  I  uttered  a  word,  'No,  it  doesn't.'  ' 

Cyrus  smiled.  "I  guess  it  must  be  a  sort  of  tele 
graphing  without  wires,  like  that  man  Marconi  has 
just  discovered." 

For  a  moment  they  stood  in  silence,  Ruth  looking 
earnestly  into  the  boy's  slumbrous,  half  smiling  eyes, 
trying  vainly  to  explain  the  unexplainable.  "It's  all 
the  harder  to  understand,"  she  said,  "because  you  could 
only  see  the  back  of  my  head.  And  this  horrid  storm 
was  blowing  between  us." 


130  Drowsy 

"Yes,  it's  funny,  and  I  dunno  much  about  it.  But 
I  believe  I  could  get  it  if  I  wasn't  seeing  you  at  all ; 
I  mean,  if  you  were  way  off,  out  of  sight." 

"Really?" 

"Yes,  sir !  I  believe  I  could.  Let's  try  it  some  day. 
Will  you?" 

"Yes,  little  Drowsy,  when  ever  you  say." 

Once  more  she  laid  a  hand  against  his  face. 

"Your  cheeks  are  hot  again.  Now  you  go  straight 
home  and  tell  your  father  just  how  you  feel,  and  have 
Joanna  sew  on  that  button.  Will  you?" 

"Yep.     All  right." 

He  started  off.  About  a  dozen  yards  away  he 
stopped  and  looked  back.  She  was  still  standing 
where  he  left  her,  and  was  watching  him.  The  obvi 
ous  lack  of  confidence  in  his  promise — or  her  air  of 
authority  with  all  this  military  discipline  caused  a  mo 
mentary  revolt.  He  picked  up  a  handful  of  snow, 
rolled  it  quickly  in  a  ball  and  threw  it.  She  saw  it 
coming,  but  merely  bent  her  head  and  lifted  an  arm 
in  protection. 

'Twas  a  good  shot.  But  the  snowball,  being  soft, 
merely  broke  against  her  arm.  Ruth  lowered  the  arm 
and  raised  her  head,  slowly  and  calmly,  as  a  Guardian 
Angel  who  is  invulnerable  to  earthly  weapons.  She 
pointed  toward  his  home. 

Cyrus  raised  his  cap,  moved  it  grandly  through  the 
air  in  a  sweeping  curve,  bowed  very  low,  then  turned 
and  marched  away. 

He  walked  with  no  suspicion  of  pursuit.     But  Ruth 


Toward  the  Light  131 

had  obeyed  a  sudden  impulse.  She  started  forward 
on  a  run,  and  when  close  behind  him  gave  a  sudden 
push  with  both  hands.  He  tumbled  forward  into  a 
drift  and  rolled  over  on  his  back.  As  he  started  to 
get  up,  she  pounced  on  him  with  all  her  weight.  Then 
with  both  knees  on  his  chest  she  rubbed  his  face  with 
snow. 

Had  the  assailant  been  another  boy,  Cyrus  would 
have  kicked  and  struck  and  fought  him  off.  But  you 
do  not  kick  and  strike  your  aunts,  your  mother  or  your 
best  girl.  So,  he  merely  pushed  and  wriggled  about, 
with  eyes  and  mouth  tight  shut. 

Zac  seemed  to  enjoy  the  business  as  much  as  Ruth. 
He  barked  and  plunged  about  as  if  cheering  for  the 
victor. 

Well  into  Cyrus's  face  Ruth  rubbed  the  snow. 
"Take  that,  you  horrid  boy,  and  that,  and  that !" 

With  a  triumphant  laugh  she  took  her  knees  from 
his  chest,  jumped  to  her  feet  and  ran  away.  And  as 
she  ran  she  expected  just  what  happened.  For  Cyrus, 
also  quickly  on  his  feet,  drew  the  backs  of  his  mittens 
across  his  eyes  for  clearer  vision,  then  sent  a  snowball 
toward  the  vanishing  figure.  It  landed  between  her 
shoulders.  But  she  ignored  it,  and  ran  into  her  own 
house  without  even  a  backward  glance. 

For  a  moment  Cyrus  stood  and  watched  her,  then 
started  homeward. 

It  was  a  friendly  enough  parting,  but  it  might  have 
been  different  had  they  know  how  many  years  were 
to  come  and  go  before  they  met  again. 


SOMETHING  of  a  liar  was  Cyrus,  in  emergen 
cies,  but  he  told  the  truth  when  he  said  "lots  of 
things  have  been  done  that  never  were  done  be 
fore;  and  mighty  surprisin'  things,  too!" 

History  bears  him  out.  The  stories  of  Grimm  and 
Andersen  are  commonplace  events  besides  the  victories 
of  Science.  Interesting,  indeed,  would  be  the  views 
of  Galileo  on  wireless  telegraphy,  or  Botticelli's  opin 
ion  of  the  "movies,"  or  even  what  language  the  British 
commander  might  have  used  at  Bunker  Hill  had  the 
Yankees  employed  aeroplanes.  Since  the  impossible 
is  now  in  daily  use,  the  dream  of  the  visionary  in 
every  home,  incredible  things  have  ceased  to  astonish. 
Fairy  tales  are  coming  true. 

So  thought  Dr.  Alton,  on  the  afternoon  following 
that  last  interview  between  Ruth  and  Cyrus,  when  he 
was  suddenly  converted  from  incredulity  to  compul- 

132 


A  Worker  of  Miracles          133 

sory  faith  in  an  achievement  which  he  had  believed  im 
possible.  As  he  drove  up  to  his  own  house  Cyrus 
leaned  out  of  the  sitting  room  window  and  told  him 
to  go  at  once  to  Mrs.  Heywood  who  had  fallen  on  the 
stairs  and  broken  a  leg.  Dr.  Alton  asked  no  questions, 
turned  about  and  drove  off.  A  few  hundred  yards 
along  the  road  he  met  Mr.  Heywood,  who,  much  agi 
tated,  and  traveling  fast,  as  if  trying  to  walk  and  run 
at  the  same  time.  The  doctor  stopped  and  the  clergy 
man  climbed  in.  As  they  started  off  Mr.  Heywood  ex 
claimed,  out  of  breath  :  "How  fortunate  this  is.  I  was 
afraid  you  might  not  be  at  home.  Poor  Alice,  I  fear, 
has  broken  her  leg." 

"Yes,  so  I  heard.     I  am  on  my  way  there." 

"On  your  way  to  my  house?" 

"Of  course." 

Mr.  Heywood  turned  in  surprise.  "You  say  you — 
you  knew  of  the  accident?" 

"Yes." 

"But,  Doctor,  you  couldn't.  It  happened  less  than 
ten  minutes  ago." 

"Cyrus  told  me.  Perhaps  somebody  telephoned 
him." 

"But  I  have  no  telephone." 

Dr.  Alton  smiled.  "Possibly  somebody  is  a  faster 
runner  than  you." 

"But  no  one  was  there  except  Alice,  Ruth  and  my 
self." 

"Ruth  may  have  done  it." 


134  Drowsy 

"Ruth  has  not  left  her  mother.  She  is  there  now. 
And  nobody  else  knows  of  it." 

For  a  moment  Dr.  Alton  was  silent.  "Bad  news 
travels  fast,  Mr.  Heywood." 

"But  not  when  there's  nobody  to  carry  it." 

"Yes,  there's  that  miraculous  new  messenger  boy, 
wireless  telegraphy." 

Mr.  Heywood  was  in  no  mood  for  argument  and 
said  no  more  as  Dr.  Alton  obviously  had  little  faith 
in  any  mysterious  messenger.  So,  for  the  moment, 
the  subject  was  dropped. 

When  the  bone  was  set — and  it  proved  a  simple 
fracture — Mr.  Heywood  followed  Dr.  Alton  to  the 
door.  I  wish,  Doctor,  you  would  ask  Cyrus  how  he 
got  his  information — just  to  gratify  my  curiosity." 

"Are  you  absolutely  sure  that  Ruth  did  not  tell 
him?" 

Mr.  Heywood,  for  answer,  stepped  back  into  the 
hall  and  called  to  his  daughter,  who  at  once  came  run 
ning  down  the  stairs. 

"Ruth,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  how  Cyrus  heard  of 
your  mother's  accident  so  soon  after  it  happened?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  told  him." 

"You!"  exclaimed  her  father.  "Why  Ruth,  you 
never  left  the  house!" 

"And  Cyrus,"  said  Dr.  Alton,  "is  at  home,  confined 
to  the  house  with  a  bad  cold.  At  least  that's  where  he 
ought  to  be." 

"Oh,  sir,  he  is!"  said  Ruth.  "He  sent  me  a  note 
asking  me  to  talk  to  him,  on  the  porch,  from  our  house 


A  Worker  of  Miracles          135 

at  just  five  o'clock,  and  I  did.     Mother  fell  on  the 
stairs  just  as  I  began  to  talk  so  I  told  him  about  it." 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  her  father,  "that  your  voice 
carried  from  this  house  to  his,  nearly  a  mile  away?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  Cyrus  doesn't  have  to  hear  your 
voice,  always.  He  has  a  special  way  of  knowing 
things." 

"A  special  way  of  knowing  things?" 

Ruth  nodded. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Ruth?     What  things?" 

"Things  you  don't  say." 

"But  you  did  say  to  him  that  your  mother  had  an 
accident." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  he  didn't  have  to  hear  it.  He  gets  it 
some  other  way."  She  added,  with  a  smile:  "He 
doesn't  get  it  through  his  ears." 

"Then  how  does  he  get  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  says  it  is  in  the  air.  He  says 
he  thinks  it's  a  kind  of  wireless  telegraph  and  must 
work  the  same  way." 

"Most  extraordinary!"  murmured  Mr.  Heywood, 
and  he  looked  at  Dr.  Alton  as  if  hoping  for  more  light 
on  a  cloudy  subject.  Dr.  Alton,  however,  was  gazing 
thoughtfully  at  the  girl,  whom  he  knew  to  be  truthful, 
lie  also  knew  the  misleading  possibility  of  a  child's 
imagination.  "Do  you  really  think,  Ruth,  that  Cyrus 

"I  don't  know,  sir.     I  couldn't  hear  anything  from 
learned  of  the  accident  in  that  way?" 
him." 


136  Drowsy 

"You  mean  if  he  answered  back  you  couldn't  get 
it?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Nobody  but  Cyrus  could  understand 
anything  at  all,  so  far  away." 

"He  knew  that  you  couldn't  hear  anything  he  said?" 

"Yes,  sir.  He  just  wanted  to  find  out  if  he  could 
tell  what  a  person  said  so  far  away  without  hearing  it." 

Mr.  Heywocd  turned  to  Dr.  Alton.  "He  evidently 
succeeded,  and  it  seems  quite  incredible." 

Dr.  Alton  did  not  reply,  directly  He  had  closed  his 
eyes,  and  his  own  thoughts,  whatever  their  nature, 
were  so  absorbing  that  Mr.  Heywood's  voice  had 
failed  to  reach  him.  His  abstraction,  however,  was 
brief.  With  a  smile  he  shook  hands  with  Ruth.  "I 
thank  you  for  your  testimony,  little  lady.  You  make 
a  perfect  witness."  Then  to  her  father :  "I  shall  in 
terview  Cyrus  at  once  and  we  will  try  to  reach  a  bet 
ter  understanding  of  the  mystery." 

He  promised  to  call  in  the  morning  to  see  Mrs. 
Hey  wood,  and  then  departed. 

\Yhen  he  entered  his  own  house,  half  an  hour  later, 
he  found  the  worker  of  miracles  asleep  on  a  sofa  near 
the  open  fire.  Curled  up  at  his  feet  lay  Zac.  But  Zac 
was  not  asleep.  \Yhen  the  doctor  moved  toward  the 
fire  and  stood  before  it,  warming  his  hands,  Zac  fol 
lowed  him  with  his  eyes.  These  cautioning  eyes  were 
saying:  "Don't  make  a  noise  or  you'll  wake  him." 

Dr.  Alton  understood.  He  made  no  noise.  But  as 
he  looked  down  upon  the  sleeper  he  saw  signs  of  vivid 
dreams.  The  sleeper  kicked,  muttered  and  moved  his 


A  Worker  of  Miracles          137 

hands.  One  vigorous  kick  landed  on  Zac's  forehead, 
but  the  recipient  merely  closed  his  eyes,  hoping  for  bet 
ter  luck  another  time.  One  more  kick,  spasmodic  and 
violent,  just  missing  Zac's  head  by  an  eighth  of  an 
inch,  and  the  boy  awoke.  As  he  awoke  he  sat  up  and 
shouted : 

"She's  out!" 

Seeing  his  father  he  swung  his  legs  over  the  side  of 
the  sofa,  blinked  and  laughed  aloud.  Zac  also  laughed : 
— that  is,  he  barked.  He  always  barked  when  Cyrus 
laughed,  just  to  be  in  it.  To  do  whatever  Cyrus  did 
was,  of  course,  beyond  a  dog's  ambition,  but  laughter 
being  a  manifestation  of  his  owner's  joy,  he  expressed 
himself  with  sincerity  and  enthusiasm  by  tail  and 
voice.  Moreover,  by  always  joining  Cyrus  in  his 
mirth  the  world  might  know  that  their  tastes  were 
similar.  In  fact,  to  be  identified  with  Cyrus  in  any 
way  \vas  glory  enough  for  any  dog.  Cyrus  was  really 
the  Only  Boy.  There  were,  of  course,  other  boys,  but 
they  could  not  all  be  Cyruses.  God  was  not  running 
this  world  on  any  such  plan.  There  was  always  one 
specimen  that  overtopped  the  others.  Only  one  Helen 
of  Troy,  one  Socrates,  one  Columbus,  one  George 
Washington  and  one  Cyrus.  Zac  was  not  familiar 
with  these  names  but  they  serve  their  humble  purpose 
in  fixing  the  status  of  the  human  being  that  he  loved 
and  respected  above  all  others. 

"That's  the  funniest  thing  that  ever  was,"  said 
Cyrus.  "What  do  you  think  I  dreamed  ?  I  dreamed 
we  were  playing  ball  on  the  ice  on  Minnebuc  Lake ;  us 


138  Drowsy 

fellers  against  the  women,  and  we  all  had  skates  on. 
I  was  pitchin'.  Mrs.  Snell  was  at  the  bat  and  Deacon 
Whitlock  first  base.  Mrs.  Snell's  kind  of  fat,  you 
know,  and  fierce  and  dignified,  but  she  wore  trousers 
like  the  rest  of  us  Oh,  it  was  funny !" 

Here  the  miracle  worker  paused  and  wagged  his 
head,  indicating  suppressed  mirth.  "Well,  I  gave  her 
a  twister.  Jimminy !  Wouldn't  I  like  to  give  such  balls 
in  a  real  game!  'Twas  an  up  and  down  curve  and  a 
fade  away  all  in  one.  It  went  like  a  cork  screw.  No 
feller  would  ever  try  to  hit  it.  But  Mrs.  Snell  did ! 
She  just  shut  her  eyes  and  let  go — and  she  hit  it!  I 
caught  it  and  threw  to  first.  It  turned  into  a  snow 
ball  between  me  and  Deacon  Whitlock  and  hit  him 
square  in  his  wide  open  mouth — for  he's  always  talk 
ing  to  himself,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Snell  dropped  her  bat  and  went  sliding 
down  to  first — on  her  skates — and  when  she  got  there 
she  couldn't  stop.  She  just  scooped  up  Deacon  Whit 
lock  as  if  he'd  been  a  little  boy  and  carried  him  off  in 
her  arms.  He  was  screamin'  and  kickin'  and  wavin' 
his  arms  like  a  mad  baby.  And  Luther,  who  was  out 
in  right  field,  grabbed  her  by  the  trousers  and  tried  to 
hold  her  back.  Oh,  it  was  funny !" 

Again  the  worker  of  miracles  was  convulsed  with 
mirth. 

Dr.  Alton  nodded,  smiled  and  expressed  a  proper 
appreciation  of  the  unusual  game.  He  looked  down 
into  the  boy's  laughing  face,  as  he  spoke,  and  there 


A  Worker  of  Miracles          139 

came  to  him  an  impression,  considered  trivial  at  the 
moment,  but  remembered  later  with  a  livelier  interest. 
It  seemed  to  him,  for  a  brief  moment,  that  Cyrus's 
smiling  eyes  were  gazing  deep  into  his  own  as  if  grop 
ing,  in  a  friendly  way,  for  unspoken  thoughts.  Dr. 
Alton  realized  that  this  impression  was  probably  due  to 
his  recent  discovery  of  the  boy's  extraordinary  faculty 
— a  usual  look  in  Cyrus's  eyes  which,  earlier  in  the 
day,  would  have  made  no  impression.  But  the  look 
was  short,  little  more  than  a  glance,  and  Cyrus  lowered 
his  eyes  to  his  swinging  legs  and  pulled  up  a  stocking 
which  was  slipping  down. 

''This  afternoon,"  he  said,  "I  broke  a  pane  of  glass 
in  the  parlor." 

"How  did  that  happen?" 

"Well,"  said  Cyrus,  still  watching  his  swinging  legs, 
"I  was  playing  barn-tick  in  the  parlor  with  Zac.  I 
would  throw  the  ball  against  the  wall  and  catch  it 
when  it  bounced  back,  and  every  two  or  three  throws 
I'd  let  Zac  get  it.  Then  once,  I  threw  it  kind  of  care 
less " 

"Carelessly,  you  mean." 

"Yes,  sir,  kind  of  carelessly  and  it  hit  the  window 
instead  of  the  wall." 

Dr.  Alton  slowly  moved  his  head  in  acknowledg 
ment  of  the  explanation.  The  other  subject  on  which 
he  desired  light  was  so  much  more  important  than  any 
broken  window  pane  that  neither  his  face  nor  manner 
expressed  very  serious  disapproval.  In  fact,  Cyrus 


140  Drowsy 

had  hardly  finished  his  confession  before  his  father 
spoke. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  know,  this  afternoon,  that 
Mrs.  Heywood  had  broken  her  leg?" 

"Oh,  that  was  a  great  idea !  I've  invented  a  new 
kind  of  wireless!"  And  he  went  on  to  tell,  but  in  dif 
ferent  words,  the  same  story  that  Ruth  had  given. 
"And  just  think!  if  everybody  can  do  it  there  won't 
be  any  need  of  telegraph  machines,  or  letters  either. 
People  can  talk  miles  apart — just  talk,  as  Ruth  and  I 
did!" 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  how  long  ago  did  you  find 
you  could  do  this?" 

"Only  to-day.     This  was  the  first  time." 

"But  Ruth  says  you  often  know  what  people  think, 
or  are  going  to  say,  before  they  say  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  long  have  you  been  able  to  do  this?'5 

"Oh,  p'r'aps  three  or  four  years.'' 

"Why  did  you  never  happen  to  tell  me?" 

"I  supposed  you  knew.  I  supposed  everybody 
could  do  it." 

"No;  it's  a  very  unusual  faculty — very  unusual  in 
deed."  Then,  with  a  smile:  "I  suppose  you  have 
often  known  what  7  was  thinking?" 

Cyrus  laughed.     "Oh,  yes;  lots  of  times!" 

"\Vhen  was  the  last  time  ?" 

Cyrus  hesitated.  He  looked  down  at  Zac,  as  if  for 
encouragement.  Then,  with  a  glance  from  the  cor 
ners  of  his  eyes :  "Just  now." 


A  Worker  of  Miracles          141 

"Just  now!" 

Cyrus  bobbed  his  head  and  grinned.  "Yes,  just 
now." 

"Why— what  was  it  ?" 

Again  Cyrus  hesitated.  His  father  smiled — the 
smile  of  reassurance.  "Go  ahead  and  tell  me  about  it." 

"\Yill  you  promise  not  to  be  angry  or  say  anything 
bad?" 

"Yes,  I  promise." 

"Well,  when  I  broke  the  window  pane  in  the  parlor 
to-day  I  was  going  to  wait  and  let  Joanna  tell  you 
about  it  when  I  was  out  of  the  way.  But  when  you 
looked  at  me  to-night  after  I  had  told  about  the  dream 
I  saw  that  you  were  in  such  a  hurry  to  find  out  about 
the  message  from  Ruth,  that  you  wouldn't  think  so 
much  of  the  window  pane.  So  I  told  you." 

Dr.  Alton  smiled  and  kept  his  promise,  refraining 
from  criticism.  But  he  recalled  the  look  in  the  boy's 
eyes,  a  few  moments  since — the  look  as  of  gently  ex 
ploring  another's  thoughts.  The  recollection  at  this 
present  moment  brought  a  singular  feeling  almost  of 
awe ;  as  of  something  beyond  human  limitations.  Was 
he  on  the  border  land  of  the  supernatural?  And  yet, 
as  he  looked  into  the  honest  face  of  Cyrus,  his  wonder 
did  not  lessen.  He  found,  therein,  no  solution  of  the 
mystery.  He  discovered  nothing  beyond  the  familiar 
face  of  his  normal,  sane  and  healthy  boy,  absorbed  in 
things  that  became  his  age.  He  knew  that  Cyrus,  like 
other  boys,  would  rather  eat  than  pray;  that  he  pre 
ferred  stealing  apples  to  hearing  sermons  and  would 


142  Drowsy 

rather  be  a  pirate  than  a  bishop.  This  knowledge  did 
not  trouble  the  father,  lie  had  been  a  boy  himself. 

Then,  sitting  on  the  old  sofa  beside  Zac  and  Cy 
rus,  he  asked  many  questions.  They  were  all  answered. 
Cyrus  had  nothing  to  conceal.  With  boyish  frankness 
he  told  many  things,  some  serious,  some  amusing — 
little  secrets  of  his  own — when  he  had  enjoyed  his  ex 
traordinary  gift.  His  experiences  in  divining  the 
thoughts  of  others  were  given  as  matter  of  fact  occur 
rences.  He  had  believed,  until  now,  that  this  power 
was  possessed  by  all  the  world. 

It  was  a  cozy  group  on  the  old  sofa  before  the  open 
wood  fire,  Zac,  Cyrus  and  Dr.  Alton,  and  they  stayed 
an  hour  or  more.  Dr.  Alton  began  to  realize  that  this 
faculty  was  not  only  mind  reading  but  something  far 
beyond.  That  thoughts  of  others  should  come  to  this 
boy  with  no  effort  of  his  own  was  almost  incredible. 
Even  more  amazing  was  the  transmission  through 
space  not  only  of  spoken  words  but  of  the  unuttered 
wishes  of  far  away  friends.  \Yas  his  son  the  master 
of  a  vital  secret,  a  mysterious  power  now  unknown  to 
science  but,  in  future  years  perhaps,  to  be  common 
knowledge?  Was  it  within  the  realms  of  material  sci 
ence?  Or  was  it  an  individual  form  of  spiritual  sym 
pathy,  some  ethereal  harmony  attuned  by  superhuman 
guidance  to  a  chosen  few? 

When  Cyrus  had  gone  upstairs  to  bed  Dr.  Alton  sat 
long  before  the  open  fire,  remembering.  And  there 
was  much  to  remember.  At  last  he  stepped  out  into 
the  night  air  and  stood  upon  the  door-step.  Before 


A  Worker  of  Miracles          143 

him,  in  the  moon-light,  were  snow-covered  fields,  tall 
skeletons  of  elms  and  maples,  their  leafless  branches 
like  barren  memories  against  the  sky.  But  this  New 
England  landscape  was  not  what  he  saw.  He  saw, 
through  his  closed  eyelids,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Adri 
atic.  Close  beside  him  a  pair  of  loving  eyes,  dark, 
tragic — but  smiling  now — were  looking  deep  into  his 
own  and  the  woman's  lips  were  asking  if  it  were  pos 
sible  for  the  unborn  child  to  inherit  its  mother's  power 
of  divining  another's  thoughts.  And  he — the  wise 
young  doctor! — shook  his  head  and  smiled  at  the  fool 
ish  question. 

And,  lo!  not  only  had  the  power  descended  to  the 
boy  but  with  it  had  come  an  added  faculty  even  more 
mysterious  and  unbelievable! 


IX 

DREAMS? 

IT  was  the  very  next  morning  that  Ruth's  father, 
the  Rev.  George  Bentley  Heywood,  received  an 
urgent  appeal  from  China  to  fill  a  vacancy  in  the 
missionary  field.     Ten  days  after  receiving  the  mes 
sage  he,  his  wife  and  tearful  daughter,   were  on  a 
train  for  San  Francisco. 

The  days  that  followed  were  solemn  days  for  Cyrus. 
And  it  so  happened  that  the  next  ten  years  were  sol 
emn  years  for  Longficlds.  A  new  railroad  carried 
through  a  neighboring  town  left  the  village  stranded. 
The  young  nlen  began  to  leave.  \Yhen  a  house  burned 
there  was  no  rebuilding.  The  tottering  sheds  behind 
the  weed-grown  cellar  of  the  Baptist  Church  were  typ 
ical  of  the  town's  decay.  It  was  significant  that  when 

144 


Dreams?  145 

Philetus  Bisbee  died — house  and  carriage  painter — his 
business  had  so  shrunk  that  no  one  took  his  place. 
The  burning  of  the  inn  meant  that  Longsfields  as  a 
resting  place  for  travelers  was  to  be  forgotten. 

People  died  in  Longfields,  but  few  were  born.  Pu 
pils  at  the  little  red  school  house  dwindled  to  about  a 
dozen.  The  teacher's  pay  was  so  small  that  to  accept 
the  position  became  an  act  of  charity  to  the  village. 

When  Judge  David  Lincoln  moved  away  he  ex 
pressed  sincere  regret :  "I  am  sorry  to  go,  but  lawyers 
cannot  thrive  on  memories  alone." 

Wits  of  neighboring  towns  referred  to  the  sleeping 
village  as  Pompeii,  Old  Has  Been  and  Long  Memories. 
The  main  street  with  its  overhanging  elms  was  always 
silent.  And  the  common,  once  noisy  with  excited 
children,  was  solemn  in  its  stillness.  Every  day 
seemed  Sunday. 

In  short,  Longfields  went  the  way  of  many  other 
New  England  villages.  It  became  a  restful  and  pic 
turesque  reminder  of  better  days.  But,  after  all,  it 
was  merely  following,  in  its  decay,  the  example  of  fa 
mous  queens  of  fashion,  Troy,  Babylon  and  Thebes. 

This  gentle  retirement  to  oblivion  affected  Cyrus 
less  than  his  father.  For  Dr.  Alton  sent  him  away  to 
school,  to  prepare  for  college,  and  the  absent  boy  al 
most  forgot  the  tragedies  of  his  home.  Moreover, 
Cyrus  found  much  excitement  in  his  new  surround 
ings;  much  to  learn — and  unlearn — from  contact  with 
so  many  others  of  his  age.  They  came  from  town 
and  country  and  from  almost  every  state.  What  he 


146  Drowsy 

got  from  books  was  least  in  interest  and  often  the 
least  in  value.  That  million-sided  problem,  Human 
Nature,  was,  as  usual,  the  hardest  to  understand,  the 
last  to  be  solved. 

Rarely  does  a  boy  with  Anglo  Saxon  blood  in  his 
veins  find  it  necessary  to  cure  himself  of  too  much 
polish.  But  even  in  this  case  Old  Human  Nature  was 
triumphant.  When  away  from  Longfields  Cyrus  found 
his  ceremonious  courtesy  was  misapplied,  misunder 
stood  and  almost  a  misdemeanor.  His  eighteenth  cen 
tury  bows  were  regarded  by  his  chambermaid  as  ironi 
cal;  by  his  classmates  as  a  silly  affectation,  and  were 
resented  by  his  instructors  as  efforts  to  be  funny  at 
their  expense. 

Further  discouragement  came  one  day  in  the 
friendly  warning  of  an  older  boy.  "You  know, 
Drowsy,  or  you  don't  know,  that  those  salaams  of 
yours  give  the  impression  that  before  you  came  to 
this  academy  you  were  the  colored  porter  on  a  parlor 
car." 

The  result  was  that  before  the  end  of  the  first  term 
his  manners  were  only  a  trifle  better  than  those  of 
other  boys.  Except,  of  course,  when  taken  off  his 
guard,  as  in  his  interview  with  the  wife  of  a  certain 
prosperous  citizen  who  slipped  and  fell  in  coming  out 
of  the  post  office.  She  was  a  sensitive  lady,  irascible 
and  of  massive  proportions.  As  she  landed  on  the 
sidewalk,  two  snow  white  stockings  with  stalwart 
limbs  inside  waved  briefly  before  the  public  eye.  They 
resembled  the  whitened  limbs  of  a  billiard  table.  Let- 


Dreams?  147 

ters  fell  from  one  of  her  hands.  With  the  other  she 
clung  convulsively  to  a  large  umbrella.  Three  girls 
involuntarily  laughed  aloud. 

As  the  lady  climbed  to  her  feet  two  light  blue  eyes 
shot  fury  from  a  purple  face.  When  Cyrus  stepped 
forward  to  gather  up  the  scattered  letters  he  forgot 
all  his  recent  training,  raised  his  cap,  moved  it  grace 
fully  in  the  air  and  bent  low  and  reverentially — as  the 
First  Lord  of  the  Bed  Chamber  might  salute  his 
Sovereign.  But  the  boiling  lady  identified  this  seem 
ing  mockery  with  the  laughter  of  the  maidens.  She 
brought  the  fat  umbrella  hard  down  upon  the  head  of 
Cyrus,  and  she  struck  with  all  her  might.  Luckily 
for  the  recipient  her  hand  was  quivering  with  rage, 
and  no  physical  damage  was  accomplished.  But  the 
damage  to  his  pride  was  serious.  As  he  straightened 
up  and  looked  the  lady  in  the  face  his  cheeks  were  hot. 
The  erstwhile  dro\vsy  eye  showed  astonishment — and 
anger.  His  cherubic  lips  had  parted :  "Then  pick  'em 
up  yourself,  you  stupid  old— 

At  that  instant  he  recalled  an  injunction  of  his 
father.  "Whatever  may  happen,  Cyrus,  always  be  a 
gentleman."  He  had  not  been  told  just  how  a  gen 
tleman  should  behave  when  beaten  on  the  head  with 
an  umbrella — and  in  public.  But  he  closed  his  lips 
without  even  beginning  the  sentence.  He  bowed 
again,  and  this  bow  was  even  more  elaborate  than  the 
first. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam." 

Then  he  turned,  put  on  his  cap  and  walked  away. 


148  Drowsy 

Again  was  heard  the  giggle  of  the  girls.  That  a 
person  should  apologize  for  being  hit  on  the  head 
with  an  umbrella  was  too  funny  for  silence. 

Meanwhile,  the  cost  of  all  this  experience  and  of 
his  pursuit  of  knowledge  fell  heaviest  on  his  father. 
The  practical  obliteration  of  his  native  town  and  field 
of  work  meant  financial  embarrassment  for  Dr.  Alton. 
The  few  remaining  inhabitants  of  the  village  were 
now  too  poor  to  pay  a  doctor.  To  fit  Cyrus  for  col 
lege,  and  keep  him  there,  Dr.  Alton  exhausted  the 
small  capital  left  him  by  his  father.  When  that  was 
gone  he  tried  to  sell  his  orchard  and  the  best  por 
tions  of  the  farm.  But  no  purchasers  appeared.  He 
did  sell,  however,  to  a  dealer  in  Boston,  some  family 
heirlooms;  rare  pieces  of  Colonial  furniture  and  all 
his  Canton  china. 

To  Cyrus,  meanwhile,  Fate  was  paying  especial  at 
tention — with  more  to  come.  During  his  last  year  in 
college  a  surprising  change  took  place  in  his  ways  of 
spending  time — surprising,  but  familiar  to  biographers. 
Such  transformations,  where  indifference  suddenly 
changes  to  ambition,  indolence  to  industry,  and  where 
the  trifler  becomes  in  earnest,  have  frequently  occurred, 
as  with  Julius  Caesar,  St.  Paul,  Henry  V  of  England, 
William  Shakespeare,  Mirabeau  and  many  other  nota 
bles.  So  there  was  nothing  original  in  this  sudden 
awakening  of  Cyrus.  During  the  first  three  years  of 
his  college  course  he  was  a  "good  fellow."  When 
classmates  entered  his  room  with  "Come  along, 
Drows,  old  man;  chuck  the  books,  and  now  for  the 


Dreams?  149 

real  life,"  he  joyfully  obeyed  and  took  chances  on  reci 
tations  :  with  the  usual  result  that  only  distant  rela 
tions  were  maintained  with  the  upper  end  of  his  class. 
It  was  the  price  of  popularity  and  of  the  joy  of  living. 
Toward  the  end  of  his  last  year,  however,  his  more 
festive  companions  were  horrified  by  an  unexpected 
miracle.  A  little  book  came  into  his  hands.  It  threw 
a  dazzling  light  on  the  possibilities  of  electricity.  It 
aroused  his  curiosity  and  so  kindled  his  imagination 
that  he  turned  his  back  on  the  "real  life"  and  became 
studious.  This  sudden  thirst  for  knowledge  caused  a 
shock  to  his  festive  pals.  They  were  anxious  about 
him.  For,  indeed,  is  there  not  cause  for  alarm,  when 
a  Bully  Boy,  a  Rattling  Good  Sport  and  a  Live  One 
suddenly  loses  his  grip  on  "real  life"  and  becomes  a 
Bookworm,  a  High  Brow  and  a  Dead  One? 

But  Cyrus  did  not  weaken.  He  clung  to  his  new 
love.  Unavailing  were  such  arguments  as  "Chuck  the 
science,  Drowsy.  There's  time  enough  for  wisdom 
when  you  are  old !"  or,  "Don't  be  a  chump,  Drows. 
You  can't  be  young  forever.  Remember,  Youth  is 
short  and  Science  long." 

And  he  felt  neither  shame  nor  repentance  when  his 
own  chum  rebuked  him.  "Drows,  old  man,  you  are 
just  a  crank.  Harvard  Students  are  not  giving  points 
to  old  sharps  in  science.  For  God's  sake  don't  be  a 
freak  and  get  musty  before  your  time." 

But  words  were  wasted.  This  new  ambition  had 
brought  to  him  a  revelation  of  his  real  self.  He  had 
no  suspicion,  at  the  time,  that  the  reading  of  this  little 


150  Drowsy 

book  was  to  lead  to  adventures  surpassing  the  wonder 
tales  of  his  childhood.  To  his  brain  came  a  dazzling 
light.  He  began  to  realize  the  infinite  possibilities  of 
man's  power,  with  the  hidden  forces  of  the  universe 
once  in  his  control.  A  fantastic  dream,  perhaps,  but 
the  more  he  thought  the  deeper  grew  his  conviction. 
He  knew — or  thought  he  knew — that  he  had  it  in  him 
to  open  wider  the  door  that  hides  the  secrets  of  the  air. 
Greater  still  would  have  been  his  confidence  had  he 
known  that  a  part  of  his  inheritance  was  the  courage 
and  the  genius  of  the  famous  Italian  scientist  who 
wrote  the  book.  And  it  appeared  from  the  little  por 
trait  of  the  author  that  he,  too,  had  slumbrous  eyes. 
It  was  ordained,  however,  that  their  relationship  was 
to  remain  hidden  both  from  the  great  discoverer  and 
from  his  yet  more  daring  grandson. 

At  the  end  of  the  four  years  at  Harvard,  Dr.  Alton's 
finances  were  low,  indeed.  But  Cyrus  argued  for  a 
course  in  Chemistry  and  Physics  at  the  Institute  of 
Technology  in  Boston.  He  took  the  course,  and  it  was 
clearly  understood  that  it  meant  bitter  economies  for 
both  father  and  son.  But  the  economies  were  calmly 
faced.  Some  of  them  meant  serious  sacrifice  in  per 
sonal  comfort,  not  only  in  the  little  luxuries  of  life, 
but  in  clothing,  food  and  fuel.  Of  blows  to  pride  they 
made  no  account. 

At  last  Cyrus  finished  his  course  at  the  "Teck."  His 
return  to  Longfields  was  on  a  smiling  afternoon  in 
May  and  he  found  his  father  at  home,  sitting  on  the 
porch  with  Luther  Dean.  Cyrus  and  his  boyhood 


Dreams?  151 

friend  had  seen  little  of  each  other  during  the  last  six 
years.  Luther  had  grown  into  a  rather  handsome 
young  man.  Otherwise  Fortune  had  not  favored  him. 
With  many  other  American  boys,  his  ambition  was  to 
become  a  millionaire,  and  to  be  quick  about  it.  And 
with  many  other  boys  in  this  upsetting  country,  he 
looked  down,  in  fancy,  from  the  glittering  peaks  of 
sudden  wealth,  upon  the  patient  plodders  in  the  valley 
below.  Not  for  him  the  goody  mottoes  of  the  Sun 
day  School.  Not  for  him  a  wasted  youth  in  "starting 
at  the  bottom,  working  your  way  up"  with  "slow  but 
sure,"  and  all  the  other  maxims  for  smothering  talent. 
For  him  the  Napoleonic  grasp  of  opportunity,  the  cut 
ting  of  the  Gordian  knot.  He  believed  in  quick 
achievement.  He  believed 

"There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men 
Which  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune." 

And  he  believed  in  short  cuts.  His  models  for  suc 
cess  were  the  millionaires  "who  had  struck  it  rich." 
And  he  was  firm  in  the  faith  that  his  revolt  from  "Pa 
tient  Industry,"  "Honest  Toil"  and  similar  delusions 
was  a  sign  of  genius.  In  other  words,  he  was  the 
sort  of  youth  no  man  desires  in  his  employ.  For  brief 
periods  he  had  held  positions  in  different  establish 
ments  in  Worcester.  Now,  again,  he  was  out  of  a  job. 

But  Luther's  manners  were  good,  and  his  raiment 
above  reproach.  At  present,  as  the  three  men  sat  on 
the  porch,  his  spruce  attire  was  in  striking  contrast 
with  the  almost  shabby  garments  of  Dr.  Alton  and 


152  Drowsy 

his  son.  But  Dr.  Alton  happened  to  be  one  of  those 
men  who  have  no  need  of  clothing  unless  for  warmth 
or  propriety.  In  his  head  and  face  and  figure  were 
lines  of  strength  and  beauty  that  gave  distinction. 
In  his  bearing  and  in  all  his  movements  there  was 
dignity  and  a  natural  grace.  Were  he  dressed  as  a 
beggar  at  a  coronation  he  would  have  held  his  own. 

As  for  Cyrus,  the  last  ten  years  seemed  to  have 
made  little  difference,  merely  transforming  him  from 
boy  to  man;  this  change,  as  wise  men  have  long  sus 
pected,  being  mostly  outward.  He  grew  to  the  usual 
height,  had  the  usual  number  of  teeth,  recited  from 
the  usual  books,  played  the  usual  games,  committed 
the  usual  follies,  absorbed  the  usual  experience  from 
the  various  victories  and  defeats  of  our  usual  life, 
still  retaining  at  twenty-one  the  drowsy  eyes  and  curv 
ing  lips  of  his  early  childhood.  Deep  within  him,  how 
ever,  were  aspirations  and  a  strength  of  purpose  that 
contradicted  the  languid  eyes  and  boyish  mouth. 

After  the  greetings,  and  when  various  questions  had 
been  asked  and  answered,  Dr.  Alton  lighted  his  old 
briarwood  pipe,  took  a  whiff  or  two  and  said  to  his 
son: 

"And  the  great  idea,  Cyrus,  any  further  develop 
ments?" 

"I  should  say  there  were!    I've  got  it,  father!" 

Dr.  Alton  raised  his  eyebrows.  Really  ?  You  don't 
mean— 

"Yes  I  do.     I  mean  just  that.     I  have  found  it. 


Dreams?  153 

It's  the  wonder  of  wonders.  And  it  works — even  bet 
ter  than  I  hoped." 

Dr.  Alton  straightened  up  and  smiled — a  smile  of 
surprise  and  pleasure. 

Cyrus  returned  the  smile.  At  the  same  time  his 
drowsy  eyes  became  less  drowsy  and  in  his  voice  was 
a  mild  excitement.  "And  so  simple!  Why,  I  feel 
like  laughing  when  I  think  of  it.  The  only  wonder 
is  that  hundreds  of  people  have  never  discovered  it." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Luther. 

Cyrus  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  to  be  sure  of  his 
words.  "It's  a  simple  and  inexpensive  device  for 
concentrating  in  a  space  about  the  size  of  your  two 
hands  any  quantity  of  electrical  force." 

"When  you  say  any  quantity,  do  you  mean  enough 
to  run  a  typewriter — or  an  automobile?" 

"I  mean  enough  to  run  a  railroad  train  or  an  ocean 
steamer;  or  to  lift  this  house — or  any  other  building." 

Luther  smiled  the  smile  of  doubt.  "And  the  thing 
is  no  bigger  than  your  two  hands?" 

"It  resembles  two  metal  soup  plates  back  to  back." 

Luther  whistled — a  short  whistle  signifying  a  de 
ficiency  of  belief.  "That  sounds  kind  of — kind  of — 
as  if  somebody  had  wheels  in  his  head.  How  does 
the  miracle  get  its  power?" 

"From  the  atmosphere  around  it." 

"With  no  dynamo,  nor  motor,  nor  transformer?" 

"All  that  is  between  the  metal  dinner  plates.  Why 
manufacture  power  when  the  whole  universe  is  vi- 


154  Drowsy 

brating  with  it?  It  is  like  manufacturing  air  to 
breathe." 

Luther  leaned  forward,  excitement  in  his  face. 
"Why  it  doesn't  seem  possible.  And  you  have  really 
done  it,  Drowsy  ?" 

Cyrus  nodded. 

"But  it  will  revolutionize  everything!" 

"Yes— it  will." 

"Is  it  some  new  form  of  electricity  you  discovered?" 

"No,  merely  a  new  way  of  applying  our  old  knowl 
edge.  You  see,  it  has  been  known  for  some  time  that 
air  is  energy.  Dancing  about  us,  in  the  atmosphere, 
is  plenty  of  power  waiting  to  be  harnessed;  power 
enough  to  toss  mountains  into  space  if  we  could  only 
direct  it.  You  may  have  read  about  the  tremendous 
force  in  the  vibrations  of  atoms." 

"No ;  not  a  word. 

"\Yell,  every  atom  is  a  center  of  energy.  And  every 
atom  is  composed  of  millions  of  electrons.  Do  you 
happen  to  be  interested  in  electro  kinetics?" 

"Don't  even  know  what  it  means." 

"It  relates  to  the  properties  of  electric  currents.  My 
discovery  is  merely  the  concentration  and  directing 
of  those  currents.  The  apparatus  is  about  the  size  of 
an  apple  pie,  and  so  simple  that  I  laugh  when  I  think 
of  it." 

"But,  Drowsy,  you  can't  get  so  much  power  in  such 
a  little  mechanism.  That  thing  could  never  start  a 
locomotive  or  an  ocean  steamship." 

"Start  it!     A  dozen  of  these  little  things  fastened 


IMMUta*. 


I.IFT  IT   IN   THK   AIR    TO    ANY   HKK.'HT,    CRK\V.    PASSKNCJFRS. 
AND   CARC;O"— P.ijf^  /o'i 


Dreams?  155 

to  an  ocean  steamer  could  lift  it  in  the  air  to  any 
height,  crew,  passengers  and  cargo,  and  drive  it  at 
any  rate  of  speed  and  for  any  distance.  And  at  no 
cost." 

Luther  whistled.  "Is  Cyrus  guying  us,  Doctor,  or 
is  he  only  dotty?" 

Dr.  Alton  smiled,  but  gave  no  answer. 

"After  you  had  lifted  the  steamship  up  into  the 
air,"  said  Luther,  "how  soon  could  you  get  her  across 
the  ocean?" 

"That's  for  the  captain  to  decide.  He  could  do  it 
comfortably  in  an  hour  or  two — or,  in  five  or  ten  min 
utes,  if  he  were  really  in  a  hurry." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Drowsy,  come  down  to  earth  again,  and 
join  us." 

"No,  I  can't  come  down  when  I  once  get  up.  But  I 
don't  blame  you  for  not  believing  it,  Luther.  I  only 
believe  it  myself  when  I  see  it  working.  It  is  really 
easy  to  understand,  though,  when  you  know  that  elec 
tro  magnetic  waves  in  the  ether  are  cavorting  through 
space  at  the  rate  of  about  a  hundred  and  eighty-six 
thousand  miles  a  second,  forced  by  our  friends  the  elec 
trons.  There's  no  reason  why  my  device  should  not 
go  at  about  the  same  rate.  That  would  take  our  pas 
sengers  and  cargo  across  the  ocean  in  considerably 
less  than  one  minute." 

Dr.  Alton  shook  his  head.  "No,  Cyrus,  that's  too 
sudden  even  for  a  Yankee." 

Luther  assumed  an  expression  of  alarm.  "Do  you 
think  Cyrus  will  get  over  this,  Doctor?  Is  he  wild 


156  Drowsy 

on  other  subjects,  or  is  it  only  one  screw  that's  loose?" 

Cyrus  laughed  and  turned  toward  his  father. 
"What  an  awful  joke  if  Luther  should  be  right!  I 
could  easily  believe  it  a  crazy  dream  if  one  or  two 
scientists  had  not  already  prophesied  it.  The  thing 
was  sure  to  come.  And  now  that  it's  here  it  seems 
too  simple  to  be  true.  I  merely  happen  to  be  the  first 
man  to  stumble  on  it." 

"Just  what  is  it?"  said  Luther.  "How  do  you  do 
it?  What's  the  process?" 

For  an  instant  their  eyes  met.  To  Luther  came  an 
odd  sensation  he  had  known  as  a  boy — that  the  tran 
quil  gaze  of  Cyrus  was  reading  his  secret  thoughts. 
As  his  thoughts  at  that  moment  were  not  for  publica 
tion  the  sensation  was  disturbing.  To  hide  his  em 
barrassment  he  turned  away  toward  Dr.  Alton,  and 
made  a  joking  remark  about  trips  to  Europe,  over  and 
back,  on  Saturday  afternoon.  "It  even  beats  wire 
less,"  he  said. 

"Well,  rather!"  said  Cyrus.  "Wireless  will  soon 
be  a  back  number." 

Again  Luther  whistled.  "Wireless  a  back  number! 
Well,  that's  certainly  going  some!'' 

But  Dr.  Alton  showed  little  surprise,  merely  re 
garding  his  son  more  attentively.  "What  is  to  take 
its  place,  Cyrus?" 

"Just  the  spoken  word.  Its  transmission  through 
the  ether  with  no  mechanical  appliance  for  sending  or 
for  receiving." 


Dreams?  157 

Luther  smiled.  "It  will  have  to  be  a  pretty  loud 
voice." 

"No  louder  than  wireless.  It  will  be  carried  by  the 
same  forces  that  carry  the  wireless  message,  only 
more  simply  applied.  The  air  about  us  is  alive  with 
electric  force  that  is  perfectly  willing  to  take  our  mes 
sages  without  the  machinery." 

Dr.  Alton  smiled.  "Well,  you  seem  to  have  confi 
dence  in  it.  That's  a  good  beginning,  anyway." 

Cyrus  also  smiled.     "I  have  already  done  it." 

"Already  done  it?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  and  more  than  once.  Billy  Saunders  and 
I  went  out  into  the  country,  stood  nearly  a  mile  apart, 
spoke  in  ordinary  tones  and  each  heard  more  than 
half  the  other  said." 

"With  no  instruments  whatever?" 

"None  except  a  little  receiver  about  the  size  of 
your  watch." 

Luther  whistled  again.  On  his  face  was  a  look  of 
surprise — the  Surprise  that's  the  brother  of  Doubt. 

Dr.  Alton  was  looking  earnestly  at  his  son.  Is  that 
really  true,  Cyrus?  Are  you  absolutely  sure  no  pre 
vious  knowledge  of  each  other's  intentions  may  have 
helped  a  little?" 

Then  Cyrus  explained  the  experiments  in  detail. 
He  told  how  they  purposely  chose  subjects  unknown 
to  each  other;  how  they  put  on  paper  the  words  as 
they  arrived;  that  the  percentage  of  messages  cor 
rectly  received  increased  at  every  trial ;  and  that 
weather  conditions,  wind,  rain  or  sunshine  seemed  to 


158  Drowsy 

make  little  difference  in  the  results.  After  answering 
other  questions,  he  said  to  his  father : 

"But  that  is  only  the  beginning.  The  day  is  com 
ing  when  even  the  spoken  word  will  be  superfluous." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean,  Cyrus?" 

"I  mean  communicating  thought  by  electric  induc 
tion — by  direct  vibrations." 

"Say,  Cyrus!"  exclaimed  Luther,  "the  Arabian 
Nights  isn't  in  it  with  you!" 

"No,  it  isn't,"  said  Cyrus.  For  I  have  already  done 
it." 

"Done  what?" 

"Sent  thought  waves — and  received  them." 

"Oh,  come  off." 

But  Dr.  Alton  was  looking  earnestly  at  his  son.  He 
recalled  one  or  two  occasions  when  Cyrus  had  accom 
plished  this  very  thing.  And  now,  as  they  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  he  suspected  his  own  thoughts,  at 
this  very  moment,  were  being  read.  His  suspicions 
were  correct,  for  Cyrus  answered  an  unspoken  ques 
tion. 

"Yes,  sir,  it's  the  same  as  those  you  are  recalling. 
But  now  I  understand  it.  Much  depends,  of  course, 
on  the  individual.  Latent  faculties  in  individuals,  how 
ever,  can  be  surprisingly  developed.  I  do  believe  that 
within  a  few  years  our  thoughts,  spoken  and  un 
spoken,  will  be  traveling  through  the  air  as  wireless 
travels  now." 

Dr.  Alton  made  no  reply.  He  closed  his  eyes  for 
a  time  and  smoked  in  silence.  His  thoughts  went  back 


Dreams?  159 

to  those  unexplained  episodes  when  Cyrus  was  a  boy ; 
then  further  back  to  the  villa  by  the  Adriatic.  He 
was  recalling  a  conversation  in  the  loggia  of  that  hid 
den  villa  when  Luther  rose  to  his  feet  and  exclaimed : 

"Is  there  anything,  Cyrus,  too  impossible  for  you  to 
believe?" 

"Nothing — if  it  is  interesting.  I  never  reject  a  good 
fairy  tale.  Why  be  a  skeptic?  To  look  at  a  skeptic's 
face  is  enough.  His  digestion  is  never  good.  He 
thinks  with  his  stomach  and  his  stomach  reacts  on 
his  brain.  That  means  farewell  to  enthusiasm  and  to 
all  the  best  things  of  life.  Ambition  and  gastric  juice 
are  partners.  Had  Buddha,  Christ  or  Mohammed  been 
skeptics  you  never  would  have  heard  of  them.  No 
skeptic  could  possibly  succeed  as  an  inventor,  poet,  ex 
plorer,  patriot,  or  as  any  other  kind  of  hero.  He  fails 
before  he  begins." 

Cyrus  paused  for  a  moment,  then  added :  "Perhaps 
you  are  both  saying  to  yourselves,  better  be  a  skeptic 
than  a  credulous  ass.  But  that's  open  to  argument. 
The  credulous  ass  is  not  only  happier  but  he  has  Hope 
for  a  backer,  and  he  is  a  heap  sight  more  likely  to  get 
somewhere  than  the  pessimist.  The  pessimist  never 
starts." 

His  father  nodded  approval. 

Luther  put  on  his  hat.  "Right  you  are,  Drowsy. 
Me  for  a  credulous  ass.  I  swallow  all  you  say,  elec 
tric  miracles  and  all.  Of  course,  this  sending  ideas 
about  the  world  free  of  expense  and  without  even  the 
trouble  of  saying  them,  is  quite  a  morsel  for  the  ordi- 


160  Drowsy 

nary  throat,  but  I've  got  it  part  way  down  and  am 
holding  on  to  it.  If  what  you  say  is  true,  miracles 
are  with  us.  Jimminy!  It's  a  large  idea!" 

"No  miracle  at  all,"  said  Cyrus.  "Not  half  so  mi 
raculous  as  the  growth  of  that  apple  tree  from  a  seed. 
And  the  human  brain!  Two  handfuls  of  gray  matter 
— and  what  it  achieves!  Did  you  ever  happen  to 
realize  what  a  self-starting,  Johnny-on-the-Spot,  up-to- 
date  miracle  your  memory  is?" 

Luther  laughed.  "Well,  no.  Not  enough  to  for 
get  my  meals." 

"Then  do  it  some  time.  It's  the  champion  mystery 
of  the  world.  No  man  knows  how  it  works.  We 
know  it  furnishes  us  with  names  and  places,  facts  and 
figures  and  events  without  limit,  and  they  come  to  us 
instantaneously  without  waiting  to  be  called.  A  thou 
sand  telegraph  clerks  with  an  acre  of  pigeon  holes 
could  not  accomplish  in  an  hour  what  your  memory 
does  in  a  second.  It  is  quicker  than  greased  light 
ning.  It's  the  miracle  of  miracles.  Why,  Luther, 
these  thought  waves  of  mine,  compared  with  it,  are 
so  simple  and  so  easy  that  any  normal  baby  could 
operate  them." 

"I  guess  you  are  right." 

After  a  few  more  words,  this  conversation  ended, 
and  Luther  departed.  But  Dr.  Alton  and  Cyrus  sat 
a  long  time  on  the  little  porch  talking  seriously  of  the 
Great  Discovery. 

But  the  inventor,  later  that  afternoon,  was  not  too 
much  absorbed  in  electric  wonders  to  visit  a  corner  at 


Dreams?  161 

the  end  of  the  garden.  There  he  straightened  up  a 
slab  that  marked  a  grave.  The  slab  was  of  wood.  He 
brushed  the  surface  with  careful  hands  and  read  the 
letters  he  himself  had  carved  nine  years  before. 


Lies 

Zac    AL-ton    He 
Was    V<?AY   5-mARt 
and    ALSO 

GOOD 

These  lines  Cyrus  always  read  with  a  smile  —  not  of 
mirth,  but  of  satisfaction  with  their  truth  and  jus 
tice  to  his  old  friend's  character.  Pleasant  indeed 
were  those  memories  !  —  lively  and  bounding  memories  : 
of  adoration  for  himself  and  of  unswerving  loyalty  to 
the  final  breath  of  a  short  but  joyous  life. 


X 


THE  FARTHEST  TRAVELER 

ONE    sultry    morning   about    six    weeks    later, 
Luther  Dean  got  off  a  train  at   Springfield. 
Along  the  shady  side  of  the  main  street  he 
walked.     He  walked  faster  than  usual.     His  eyes,  his 
hot,  perspiring  face  and  general  manner  showed  sup 
pressed    excitement.      And    why   not?      Wealth,    and 
without  labor,  would  soon  be  his. 

A  few  blocks  from  the  station  he  turned  into  another 
street,  then,  not  far  from  the  corner  he  entered  a  small 
shop.  On  the  front  window  of  the  shop  were  these 
words : 


I.  KATZ 

ELECTRICAL    CONTRACTOR 
162 


The  Farthest  Traveler  163 

The  brevity  of  his  name,  as  here  shown,  gave  as 
much  pleasure  to  the  proprietor  as  he  had  suffered  an 
noyance  from  his  fuller  and  more  various  name,  Isi 
dore  Pollacksek  Zwillenberg  Stchcrbatcheff  Katz.  And 
even  his  last  little  name  had  proved  almost  a  curse,  as 
his  intimates  called  him  "Malty"  and  "Puss  Katz"; 
also  "Tom  Katz"  and  "How  Many."  But  I.  Katz, 
of  black  eyes  and  muddy  complexion,  was  an  ambitious 
young  man,  industrious,  surprisingly  clever,  watchful 
and  polite.  He  and  Luther  Dean  had  one  desire  in 
common — an  unquenchable  thirst  for  wealth.  There 
was,  however,  this  important  difference,  that  Katz  was 
willing  to  work  for  it,  while  Luther  regarded  thirst  as 
a  substitute  for  effort. 

When  Katz's  mother,  Rosa  Hlawatsch,  married 
Emanuel  Katz  she  had  a  prosperous  brother-in-law, 
Schweers  Hjort,  who  lent  the  bridal  pair  enough 
money  to  start  for  America.  Two  years  after  Isi 
dore's  birth  his  parents  died.  Then  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Zoob  Pschenitza  adopted  the  orphan  and  cared  for 
him  until  his  nineteenth  year,  when  he  found  employ 
ment  with  Mr.  Hitzrot  Fuss,  an  electrician.  Mr.  Hitz- 
rot  Fuss  was  a  cousin  of  the  Zoob  Pschenitzas. 

This  July  morning  when  Luther  entered  his  shop  I. 
Katz  had  been  in  business  for  himself  about  a  year. 
The  opening  of  the  door  rang  a  bell  that  gave  warning 
to  the  proprietor,  at  work  in  a  little  shop  at  the  rear. 
Luther  walked  directly  to  this  little  shop.  I.  Katz 
laid  down  his  work. 

"Ah !    Good  morning,  Dean." 


164  Drowsy 

"Same  to  you,  Kittens." 

"Haven't  seen  you  for  a  long  time.  How  are  you? 
What's  the  news  from  Longdeado?" 

"News  enough — this  time." 

As  the  two  men  stood  by  the  work  bench,  and  Katz 
took  a  second  look  at  his  visitor's  face,  he  said : 

"What's  the  matter?    Something  on  your  mind ?" 

Luther  removed  his  hat  and  coat  and  lit  a  cigarette 
before  answering. 

"Well,  I  should  say  there  was.  Have  you  any  ob 
jections  to  being  a  millionaire?" 

"Not  especially.     Got  the  cash  with  you?" 

"Not  this  morning.  But  I've  got  the  next  thing  to 
it." 

If  Katz  felt  any  excitement  at  this  announcement 
he  concealed  it.  Perhaps  he  knew  Luther  too  well. 
Writh  a  smile,  and  a  slight  movement  of  the  shoulders, 
he  said : 

"Of  course  it's  a  dead  sure  thing." 

"It  is." 

"Well,  that's  something." 

"You  know,  Katzy,  the  only  sure  things  in  this 
world  are  death  and  taxes." 

"Yes.     So  I've  heard." 

"Well,  compared  with  this  thing  of  mine,  taxes  are 
dreams  and  death  never  happens.  Listen.  I  can 
place  in  your  hands  a  contrivance  hardly  bigger  than 
a  dinner  plate  that  generates  electricity  without  ma 
chinery  ;  that  has  infinite  power ;  that  can  drag  railway 
trains  of  any  size  at  any  speed  and  can  drive  an  ocean 


The  Farthest  Traveler  165 

steamer.  It  weighs  about  five  pounds  and  costs  noth 
ing  to  run." 

Katz  slowly  moved  his  head,  and  frowned. 

"It's  a  bad  habit,  Luther." 

"What's  a  bad  habit?" 

"Cocktails  in  the  morning.  You  are  seeing  mira 
cles." 

Luther  protested.  Then  he  explained  The  Thing 
in  detail.  Katz  pronounced  it  impossible. 

"Of  course  it's  impossible!"  said  Luther.  "That's 
why  it's  so  devilish  good.  It  does  the  impossible  all 
day  long  and  all  night,  too.  Why,  Katz,  it  can  do 
anything  you  ask  it — and  with  no  expense.  God 
Almighty  supplies  the  electricity — all  you  want  and 
for  nothing.  Can  you  beat  it?" 

The  electrician  began  to  show  interest. 

"But  are  you  pop  sure  it  can  do  these  things?  Have 
you  seen  it  work  yourself?" 

Then  to  I.  Katz,  with  the  bright  eyes  and  muddy 
complexion,  Luther  told  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen 
with  his  own  eyes — touched  with  his  own  hands.  He 
described  the  two  soup  plates  of  metal  fastened  to 
gether,  with  the  mysterious  space  between — the  small 
chamber  which  held  the  Miracle  of  Science.  And  its 
priceless  secret  to  be  theirs!  To  give  some  idea  of 
the  power  of  these  two  plates  he  told  Katz  what  hap 
pened  to  Delos  King  and  his  load  of  hay.  Delos 
King's  big  load  of  hay  got  stuck  in  the  meadow.  The 
wheels  had  sunk  in  the  mud  up  to  the  hubs.  Two 
yokes  of  oxen  tried  in  vain  to  stir  it.  Then  Cyrus 


1 66  Drowsy 

Alton,  carrying  The  Thing  in  his  hand  went  down  to 
the  meadow,  fastened  what  Delos  King  thought  were 
two  kitchen  plates  to  the  end  of  the  pole,  turned  the 
button  a  fraction  of  an  inch  and  drew  the  big  load  of 
hay  out  of  the  bog  and  up  the  hill  as  if  it  had  been  a 
baby  carriage!" 

Moreover,  Luther  described  to  Katz  his  own  ex 
perience  \\;ith  this  device.  When  fastened  to  his  chest 
with  straps,  that  went  over  his  shoulder  and  under 
his  arms,  he  had  turned  the  little  button  and  had  been 
lifted  gently  from  the  floor  and  he  floated  at  will  near 
the  roof  of  the  old  barn. 

"But  what  flabbergasted  the  old  hard  heads  more 
than  any  other  one  thing,"  continued  Luther,  "was  the 
way  Cyrus  fixed  the  weather  vane  on  the  Baptist 
Church.  It  had  been  struck  by  lightning — bent  and 
twisted.  It's  a  tall  spire  and  the  deacons  were  trying 
to  figure  the  cheapest  way  of  getting  up  there  without 
a  scaffolding,  when  Cyrus  happened  along.  'What's 
it  going  to  cost  you?'  he  asked.  'Twenty-five  dollars 
at  least,'  they  said.  'Give  me  twenty-five,'  said  Cyrus, 
'and  I'll  do  it  before  night.'  'It'll  take  you  half  a  day 
to  get  up  there  either  by  rope  or  scaffolding,'  they 
said.  'I  can  get  up  there  in  one  minute,'  said  Cyrus, 
'after  I  once  start.'  At  first  they  laughed,  but  they 
agreed  to  pay  twenty-five  dollars.  Then  Cyrus  went 
home — this  was  in  the  forenoon — came  back  with  his 
two  soup  plates ;  also  a  hammer,  a  monkey  wrench  and 
a  few  other  tools.  And  right  there  in  front  of  the 
crowd,  he  slung  the  bag  of  tools  across  his  shoulders, 


The  Farthest  Traveler  167 

strapped  on  the  soup  plates,  turned  a  button  and  rose 
up  in  the  air  like  a  wingless  angel.  Gee!  I  tell  you 
the  deacons  stared !  Their  eyes  were  wider  open  than 
their  mouths!" 

"No  wonder!''  said  Katz.  "They  had  reason  to  be! 
And  did  he  fix  the  vane?" 

"Well,  rather !     It  didn't  take  him  an  hour." 

Luther  told  of  other  doings  that  had  startled  Long- 
fields ;  of  the  metal  contrivance  over  ten  feet  long 
that  resembled  a  fat  cigar;  how  Cyrus  Alton  sat  in 
side  and,  without  apparent  machinery,  rose  up  through 
an  opening  in  the  barn  and  sailed  at  will,  in  any  di 
rection  and  to  any  altitude.  In  one  evening  he  had 
sailed  over  the  whole  of  Massachusetts — and  more, 
too. 

Then  I.  Katz,  whose  bright  black  eyes  had  grown 
brighter  and  brighter,  asked  many  questions.  All  his 
questions  were  answered  promptly,  and  so  clearly  as 
to  leave  no  doubt  that  the  tale  was  true. 

"But  how  can  you  get  hold  of  the  miracle?"  he 
asked.  "What's  your  scheme?" 

Then  the  artful  Yankee  unfolded  to  the  still  more 
artful  Asiatic  his  plan — a  plan  so  simple  that  even 
the  artful  Asiatic  began  to  feel  prosperous.  Some 
pleasant  morning  and  very  soon,  while  talking  with 
Cyrus,  Luther  would  buckle  on  the  little  machine,  as 
if  to  sail  about  the  barn.  Cyrus  would  probably  con 
sent,  as  on  two  previous  occasions.  Then  he,  Luther, 
would  turn  the  button  too  far,  as  if  by  accident,  pre 
tend  to  lose  control  of  the  machine,  and  sail  up 


1 68  Drowsy 

through  the  big  skylight  of  the  barn,  which  was  always 
open  in  pleasant  weather.  He  would  wriggle  his  el 
bows  as  if  trying  to  regain  control  of  The  Thing. 
Once  up  in  the  air,  above  the  roof  of  the  barn,  he 
would  steer  in  the  direction  of  a  certain  pond,  two 
miles  away,  all  the  time  working  his  hands  and  elbows 
as  if  trying  to  get  back  to  earth. 

"Are  you  sure  you  can  do  it?"  said  Katz.  "You 
might  really  lose  control  if  you  didn't  keep  your 
head." 

Luther  smiled.  "Oh,  I  can  do  it  all  right !  I  have 
no  idea  of  steering  for  heaven  before  my  time.  You 
see  I've  already  done  it,  and  I  guess  I  did  it  about 
as  well  as  Alton  himself.  It's  really  as  easy  as  driv 
ing  a  Ford — and  lots  more  fun.  Why,  Pussy,  it's  like 
being  a  bird !" 

Katz  nodded.  "Yes,  it  sounds  good.  But  where 
will  you  go  when  you  once  get  up?" 

"To  the  big  pond,  three  miles  off.  It's  always  a  de 
serted  place — especially  forenoons.  I  shall  land  in 
a  little  cove  I  know,  unstrap  the  machine  and  hide  it 
in  the  woods  there.  Then  I  shall  wade  comfortably 
into  the  shallow  water  and  lie  down  for  a  minute, — 
with  my  clothes  on." 

I.  Katz's  eyebrows  went  up.  "I  see ;  I  see !  Bright 
idea!  The  machine  carried  you  into  water  and  you 
had  to  swim  ashore." 

"Even  so." 

"And  you  lost  the  machine,  which  is  somewhere  in 
the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  the  pond." 


The  Farthest  Traveler  169 

"Yep." 

"And  you'll  hurry  back  to  your  friend  while  still 
wet,  so  he'll  know  that  what  you  say  is  true!" 

"You've  got  it.  And  that  afternoon  I'll  bring  the 
invention  to  your  shop." 

I.  Katz,  of  the  muddy  complexion,  stroked  his 
Oriental  nose  and  nodded  approval.  His  comprehend 
ing  eyes  lingered  for  an  instant  on  Luther's  face  with 
a  look  that  indicated  admiration  and  a  friendly  feel 
ing.  But  the  unflattering  thoughts  it  covered  were 
not  divined  by  the  New  Englander. 

It  was  decreed  by  incorruptible  Fate  that  Luther's 
opportunity  should  come  the  very  next  morning. 

Cyrus  was  at  work  in  the  barn.  Dr.  Alton,  sitting 
just  outside  the  door  in  the  shade  of  the  building,  was 
reading  a  war  article  in  a  French  journal  that  some 
one  had  sent  him  from  Europe.  Luther  moved  idly 
about,  as  if  to  pass  the  time.  At  a  moment  when  he 
saw  Cyrus  especially  absorbed  in  his  work — inside  the 
big  iron  cigar — he  took  up  The  Thing  and  adjusted 
the  straps  about  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  going  to  float  around  the  barn,"  he  said,  "and 
see  how  the  roof  looks." 

"All  right,"  said  Cyrus,  keeping  on  with  his  work 
and  not  turning  his  head. 

To  avoid  all  risk  of  hitting  the  sides  of  the  sky 
light — for  he  must  rise  with  apparently  unexpected 
suddenness — he  stepped  outside  the  building.  With 
a  smile  and  a  nod  he  said  to  Dr.  Alton : 


170  Drowsy 

"If  you  never  saw  a  real  angel,  Doctor,  here's  your 
chance." 

As  he  put  his  fingers  to  the  button  Cyrus  came  run 
ning  out.  "Stop !  Hold  on  Luther !  Let  go !  That's 
not  adjusted!" 

But  Luther  was  not  to  be  thwarted  at  the  high  tide 
of  victory — with  riches  within  reach.  He  put  his 
fingers  to  the  button  and  said,  with  a  smile : 

"Oh,  I  know  how  it " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  He  had  given  the 
slightest  turn,  having  a  sensible  fear  of  the  unknown 
force  within.  In  his  haste  he  must  have  turned  it  a 
fraction  more  than  he  intended.  For  then  happened 
the  unprecedented  thing — the  thing  without  parallel  in 
human  life;  so  awful,  so  solemn,  so  unearthly,  that  the 
two  men  who  saw  it  stood  dumb  in  horror. 

As  he  was  speaking,  with  the  smile  on  his  lips,  he 
was  lifted  from  the  earth  by  the  straps  beneath  his 
arms  with  a  violence  that  stopped  his  speech — and  his 
breathing.  Up  he  shot,  more  like  a  cannon  ball  than 
a  rocket.  So  fast  he  went,  gaining  speed  with  every 
second,  growing  smaller  and  fainter  to  the  two  specta 
tors,  until — and  it  all  happened  in  the  shortest  minute 
— he  disappeared,  a  tiny  speck  in  the  blue  sky  above. 

He  had  no  chance  to  change  his  speed. 

His  straw  hat,  with  its  crimson  band, — like  a  frivo 
lous  friend  too  light  of  heart  for  sudden  tragedy- 
came  tumbling  earthward,  then  floated  off  to  the  west 
in  playful,  easy  spirals.  A  gay  farewell  to  a  lifeless 
body.  For  death  had  been  instantaneous. 


AM)   GUDK   FORKVKR.   A   HOMELESS  VAt.RANT  THROIT7H 
THE  DUSKY  VOID"— P.igr  171 


The  Farthest  Traveler  171 

Dr.  Alton  and  Cyrus  stood  looking  upward — at  the 
spot  in  the  heavens  where  Luther  had  disappeared  from 
earthly  vision.  It  was  hard  to  believe  what  their  eyes 
had  seen.  And  when,  in  silent  horror,  they  looked  into 
each  other's  faces,  both  knew  that  this  sudden  traveler 
had  started  on  a  darker  and  a  longer  voyage  than  any 
previous  explorer;  that  he  \vas  moving  at  a  speed 
unknown  to  other  mortals,  and  that  his  journey  would 
never  end.  Both  knew  that  within  the  hour  he  would 
be  beyond  the  orbit  of  the  earth ;  that  the  power  pro 
pelling  him  felt  no  exhaustion.  Unless  colliding  with 
other  celestial  derelicts,  or  drawn  into  the  path  of  some 
distant  planet — Neptune  or  Uranus — he  would  push 
further  out  into  the  Infinite.  Then,  would  he  join 
some  starry  host,  off  toward  the  Milky  Way,  the 
Southern  Cross  or  Orion's  Belt,  and  glide  forever,  a 
homeless  vagrant  through  the  dusky  void? 

His  youthful  features,  untouched  by  decaying  mois 
ture  in  the  icy  gloom,  might  remain,  through  the  count 
less  ages  as  his  friends  last  saw  him,  long  after  his 
native  earth — like  its  own  moon — had  become  a  life 
less  ball.  Or,  beyond  the  visible  stars,  far  out  into  bot 
tomless  Space, — too  far  ever  to  return — is  he  to  wan 
der  through  the  uncharted  regions  of  yet  remoter 
worlds  ? 


XI 

UNSIGHT  UNSEEN 

AFTER  midnight,  Uncle  George,  and  miles  from 
anywhere,  so  do  please  hurry." 
These  were  parting  words  to  an  uncle  as  he 
started  back  to  the  nearest  house — perhaps  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away — to  get  gasoline  for  his  motor. 

Alone  in  the  car,  the  waiting  woman  began  to 
realize  the  extraordinary  darkness  that  enveloped  her. 
Along  the  road,  in  front,  the  two  head  lights  sent 
their  beams  of  light.  But  elsewhere,  on  either  side, 
behind  her  and  above,  the  black  air  seemed  almost 
threatening  in  its  silence.  So  solemn  was  this  silence 
that  she  began  to  imagine  herself  the  only  living  crea 
ture  in  England.  Her  own  home  was  in  another  coun 
try,  and  the  invisible  scenery  on  either  side  was  all 
a  mystery.  It  might  be  open  fields  or  densest  forest — 
or  both.  But  the  damp  air  that  came  slowly  against 
her  face  seemed  laden  with  odors  of  yet  darker  places, 
of  deep  ravines  or  sunless  caves. 

172 


Unsight  Unseen  173 

Was  this  hideous  gloom  a  regular  habit  with  English 
nights?  Being  in  a  foreign  land  this  darkness  was, 
perhaps,  more  terrifying  than  darkness  in  a  more  fa 
miliar  country.  In  the  heavens  above  were  no  signs 
of  light,  either  of  light  that  had  been  or  of  light  to 
come.  And  it  seemed,  in  this  tomb-like  silence,  as  if 
the  very  universe  were  dead :  as  if  she  had  drifted  into 
space — the  infinite  space  of  her  astronomy.  From 
this  sable  silence  she  sought  relief  in  watching  a  por 
tion  of  the  road  that  lay  before  her,  now  illumined 
by  the  two  lanterns  of  the  car.  These  beams  of  light 
seemed  a  cheerful,  human  bond  between  life  and 
death. 

From  the  gloom,  on  her  right,  came  the  hopeless 
hoot  of  an  owl.  It  seemed  a  voice  from  the  sepulcher 
— a  summons  to  despair. 

A  hundred  feet,  or  more,  in  front  of  her,  where  the 
farthest  rays  of  this  light  began  to  lose  themselves 
and  mingle  with  the  darkness,  she  saw  a  rabbit  jump 
into  the  road,  and  speed  across  it.  She  wondered 
what  had  frightened  him.  Also,  she  was  inclined  to 
blame  him  for  not  being  safe  at  home  with  his  family 
instead  of  roaming  about  the  world  on  such  an  evil 
night.  To  a  woman  yearning  for  a  sign  of  life  'twas 
a  welcome  sight;  but  this  rabbit,  although  a  thing  of 
life,  was  as  noiseless  and  unreal  as  the  ghostly  world 
about  him.  With  his  half  dozen  silent  leaps  through 
the  bar  of  light  he  seemed  a  phantom  creature,  "of 
such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of." 

From  his  nervous  haste  she  judged   that  he  was 


174  Drowsy 

frightened.  It  was  possible,  of  course,  that  he  was  a 
fearless  rabbit  and  merely  taking  exercise  for  his 
health.  But  this  theory  was  not  accepted,  and  she 
watched  with  interest  to  see  what  sort  of  a  pursuer, 
if  any,  might  appear.  Being  in  that  state  of  mind 
when  almost  any  imaginings  might  come  true,  she 
would  not  have  been  surprised  had  the  pursuer  been 
a  real  phantom. 

But  these  speculations  became  less  trifling,  of  a  sud 
den,  and  were  transferred  to  quite  a  more  serious  ob 
ject.  From  the  same  place,  in  the  same  ghostly  man 
ner,  but  more  slowly  than  his  predecessor,  stepped  the 
figure  of  a  man.  Shading  his  eyes  with  a  hand,  he 
stood  for  a  moment  in  the  stream  of  light  as  if  taking 
his  bearings,  or  dazed  by  the  glare  of  the  lanterns. 
Then  he  scraped,  with  his  foot,  a  line  in  the  road  at 
right  angles  to  it,  piling  up  a  little  mound  of  earth. 
The  witness,  in  the  car,  supposed  he  was  marking  for 
future  guidance  the  spot  at  which  he  entered  from 
the  blacker  world.  At  last,  and  always  with  a  hand 
before  his  eyes,  he  came  toward  the  blinding  head 
lights.  The  invisible  spectator  had  straightened  up  and 
her  dreaming  eyes  had  opened  wider.  For  the  figure 
was  a  strange  one.  On  its  head  was  a  curious  cap, 
which  seemed  to  be  of  leather.  There  were  pieces  at 
the  ears  standing  up  like  wings,  as  on  some  ancient 
helmets  she  had  seen  in  pictures.  The  rest  of  his  at 
tire  also  resembled  leather,  with  high  leggings  reach 
ing  above  his  knees.  Around  his  waist  a  wide  metallic 
band,  something  wider  and  more  important  than  a 


Unsight  Unseen  175 

simple  belt,  glistened  as  he  moved.  The  girl,  in  alarm, 
stood  up,  looked  back  and  listened  for  the  absent  uncle. 
She  heard  nothing,  and  could  see  nothing.  She  sat 
down  again,  and  waited. 

The  man,  of  medium  height  and  slender  figure,  ap 
peared  to  move  unsteadily,  as  if  weak,  or  dizzy.  He 
walked  slowly,  and  stopped,  once  or  twice,  as  if  to 
balance  himself  on  unreliable  legs.  The  unseen  specta 
tor  thought  he  might  be  ill,  or  injured  in  some  way. 
When,  at  last,  he  passed  from  the  glare  of  the  head 
lights  and  came  into  the  darkness,  beside  the  car,  she 
could  discern  him,  dimly — or  rather  felt  his  presence 
— as  he  stood  there.  And  she  knew  that  he  was  trying, 
and  probably  in  vain,  to  form  some  idea  of  the  seated 
figure  before  him.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  where  this  is;  what  place?" 

With  these  w-ords  the  girl's  fears  departed.  For, 
not  only  were  they  uttered  in  a  gentle,  well  modulated 
tone,  but  the  voice  itself  had  a  pleasing  quality. 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  But  my  uncle  will  be  here  in  a 
moment.  He  can  tell  you." 

She  could  see  that  he  took  a  step  backward,  and 
stood  further  away. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam.  One  can't  see  much 
in  this  light.  Could  you  tell  me  what — er — what  state 
this  is?" 

"What  state?" 

"Yes — if  you  please." 

This  was  a  yet  harder  question.  Did  he  mean  some 
administrative  division  of  the  country  which  she  had 


176  Drowsy 

never  learned.  Being  unfamiliar  with  English  politi 
cal  geography,  she  answered  simply. 

"I  don't  know." 

This  time  it  was  the  questioner  who  was  surprised. 
But,  even  more  gently  than  before,  he  inquired : 

"You  don't  know  what  state  we  are  in?" 

"No,  sir." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"Could  you  tell  me,"  he  inquired,  always  deferen 
tially,  "the  name  of  the  nearest  town?" 

"Droitwich.     I  think  we  are  in  it  now." 

"Droitwich?" 

"Yes,  Droitwich." 

He  repeated  the  name  as  if  hearing  it  for  the  first 
time. 

"It  must  be  a  small  place,"  he  said. 

"I  think  it  is." 

"What  is  the  nearest  town  of  importance; — the  near 
est  city?" 

"Worcester." 

"Oh,  Worcester!  Thank  you.  I  know  Worcester. 
But  I  never  heard  of  that  other  place, — this  place, — 
Droitwich.  How  far  are  we  from  Worcester?" 

"About  six  miles,  I  think — six  or  seven." 

"Oh,  really !"  He  seemed  relieved.  There  was  happy 
surprise  in  his  tone.  "Thank  you.  I  am  very  much 
obliged.  Good  night." 

He  walked  away,  out  into  the  stream  of  light. 
Slowly  he  walked,  carefully  and  witli  uncertain  steps. 


Unsight  Unseen  177 

A  few  yards  away,  however,  he  stopped,  hesitated, 
then  turned,  came  back  and  again  stood  beside  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so  persistent,  but  may 
I  ask  you  one  more  question,  even  more  foolish  than 
the  others?  This  city  of  Worcester  is  in  the  State 
of  Massachusetts,  is  it  not?" 

"In  the  state  of  Massachusetts?" 

"Yes — that  Worcester  is  the  one  you  mean,  is  it 
not?" 

Now  if  this  conversation  had  occurred  in  the  United 
States  the  girl  might  have  answered  wisely,  for  she 
was  more  familiar  with  that  country  and  knew  some 
thing  of  its  geography.  But  when  such  wide-of-the- 
mark  questions  were  propounded  in  the  heart  of  Eng 
land  they  brought  bewilderment.  Moreover,  they  in 
dicated  an  unbelievable  ignorance  or  a  wandering 
mind — or  impertinence. 

Her  frown,  although  invisible  in  the  darkness, 
seemed  to  reach  the  traveler. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  really  have  no  idea  where 
I  am.  Would  you  mind  just  telling  me  what  part  of 
the  country  we  are  in?  Are  we  in  Massachusetts?" 

His  manner  was  earnest.  The  sincerity  of  his  tone 
again  inspired  confidence — and  awakened  her  sym 
pathy.  "I  don't  quite  know  how  to  tell  you,  but  we 
are  very  far  from  Massachusetts." 

"Then  what  state  is  this?" 

"I  don't  know  just  what  you  mean  by  state.  The 
only  state  of  Massachusetts  I  ever  heard  of  is  in 
America." 


178  Drowsy 

"Isn't  this  America?" 

This  question  so  far  transcended,  in  foolishness,  all 
its  predecessors  that  her  fears  returned.  She  made 
no  reply.  What  traveler,  in  his  senses,  could  be  so 
far  astray  ?  Was  he  a  wandering  lunatic  escaped  from 
his  keepers,  preferring  darkness  to  light?  Or  was  he 
merely  amusing  himself  at  her  expense?  As  she  re 
called  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  his  strange  appear 
ance  on  the  scene,  her  fears  once  more  returned.  Her 
impulse  was  to  stand  up,  turn  about  and  see  if  her 
uncle  was  in  sight.  But  she  dared  not  stir.  Such  ac 
tion  might  offend  him.  For  lunatics  are  often  sensi 
tive,  and  easily  enraged.  The  figure  in  the  gloom,  how 
ever,  came  no  nearer,  but  remained  at  a  proper  dis 
tance.  When  next  he  spoke  it  was  slowly,  and  yet 
more  earnestly.  And  the  girl  knew  from  his  manner 
as  well  as  from  his  words  that  he  suspected  the  im 
pression  he  was  making. 

"I  don't  blame  you,  madam,  for  whatever  thoughts 
you  may  have.  I  have  traveled  so  fast  and  so  far  that 
I  am  really  dazed.  But  if  you  will  kindly  tell  me 
where  we  are,  in  what  country,  state,  province  or  ter 
ritory, — anything — it  will  be  doing  me  a  great 
service." 

In  a  constrained  voice,  and  in  a  tone  which  made 
it  reasonably  clear  that  this  conversation  was  afford 
ing  her  little  pleasure,  she  replied  : 

"We  are  near  the  city  of  Worcester,  in  England." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  in  silence.     Then,  with  a 


Unsight  Unseen  179 

certain  weariness  in  his  voice,  "Thank  you.  I  hope 
you  will  pardon  my  disturbing  you." 

"Certainly." 

Again  he  moved  away. 

This  man's  voice  stirred  memories.  But  these 
memories — of  some  far-away  past — were  dim  and 
elusive.  Vainly  she  tried  to  recall  either  when  or 
where  she  had  known  the  voice.  Just  as  he  was  turn 
ing  from  the  bar  of  light  to  disappear  into  the  outer 
gloom,  there  came  to  her  a  gleam  of  memory  from 
the  distant  past.  Quickly  she  stood  up  in  the  car,  her 
lips  parted  to  call  aloud.  But  she  hesitated.  A  mis 
take,  under  present  conditions,  might  prove  more  than 
awkward.  So  she  uttered  no  sound.  The  stranger, 
however,  as  if  responding  to  the  unuttered  words — 
to  the  thought  itself — turned  about  and  came  toward 
the  car.  He  walked  quickly,  but  with  the  same  un 
steadiness  as  when  he  first  appeared ;  and  always  with 
a  hand  before  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  blinding  glare 
of  the  headlight.  When  alongside  the  car,  again  in 
visible  in  the  darkness,  he  said : 

"Yes,  I  am  Drowsy.     Who  calls  me?" 

She  was  startled  as  she  realized,  in  a  kind  of  terror, 
that  the  unspoken  message  must  have  reached  him. 
However,  she  answered,  simply : 

"Ruth  Hey  wood." 

With  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  joy  he  opened 
the  door,  climbed  in  and  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"Oh,  this  is  too  good !" 


180  Drowsy 

In  the  darkness  he  groped  about  and  they  managed 
to  shake  hands. 

"Why,  Ruth,  this  is  hard  to  believe!" 

It  was,  indeed !  Many  questions  were  asked,  and 
answered.  And  they  talked  of  earlier  days  at  Long- 
fields,  of  Longfields  people,  of  what  sort  of  men  and 
women  their  playmates  had  become.  More  than  all 
else,  they  talked  of  their  old  friendship  and  their  vari 
ous  adventures  together.  And  both  laughed  in  recal 
ling  how  Ruth  in  that  distant  period  was  mother,  sis 
ter,  aunt,  governess  and  best  girl  to  Cyrus.  This  re 
vival  of  the  old  intimacy  had  reached  a  stage  where 
the  enshrouding  darkness  was  almost  forgotten. 

"But  tell  me,  Drowsy,"  she  demanded,  "how  came 
you  here  and  why  did  you  ask  all  those  crazy  ques 
tions?  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  you  had  been  dining 
too  well." 

"Dining  too  well !  No,  my  wabbly  course  just  now 
was  owing,  partly,  to  not  having  dined  at  all : — and 
with  neither  lunch  nor  breakfast  either." 

"You  poor  thing!  Then  why  pretend  you  didn't 
know  you  were  in  England?" 

"There  was  no  pretending.  I  really  didn't  know  un 
til  you  told  me." 

"Indeed!  And  where  did  you  think  yourself?  In 
Australia?" 

"I  had  no  idea.  If  you  had  told  me  I  was  in  Aus 
tralia  I  should  have  believed  you.  I  have  been  travel 
ing  so  high  above  the  earth  that  the  upper  ether  went 
to  my  head — and  legs." 


—  I'AK    AM>   FAST,    t.VKN    KOK   A    HIRlJ    MAN"       f.,et  IS} 


Unsight  Unseen  181 

"You  must  have  been  fast  and  far,  even  for  a  bird 
man,  if  you  didn't  know  on  which  side  of  the  ocean 
you  had  landed." 

There  was  a  silence : — a  silence  of  doubt  and  of 
budding  suspicion  in  the  woman's  mind. 

"Listen,  Ruth.  I  have  been  far  and  fast,  even  for 
a  bird  man.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  later,  if  you 
don't  mind.  If  I  told  you  now,  you  would  think  me 
crazier,  if  possible,  than  when  I  asked  those  ques 
tions.  And  I  shouldn't  blame  you.  My  story  would 
seem  as  fantastic  as  if  I  had  been  around  the  world 
in  a  night,  or  to  another  planet.  What  I  have  done — 
where  I  have  been  is — is — so  impossible  that  you 
would  be  a  very  credulous  person  to  believe  it.  But 
later  I  will  tell  you  all — everything — please  consider 
me  in  my  right  mind." 

"In  your  right  mind!  Why,  Drowsy,  you  were 
never  in  your  right  mind !  So  I  should  believe  any 
thing  you  told  me — unless  it  was  something  easy  or 
natural,  like  other  people.  You  were  always  doing  im 
possible  things  and  thinking  impossible  thoughts — a 
most  disturbing  boy.  I  remember  I  always  felt  re 
sponsible  for  you.  You  wanted  the  moon — even  then." 

"And  now,  a  full-fledged  lunatic,  I  have  just  come 
from  the  moon !" 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  think  so.  And  you  were 
always  reaching  up  to  pick  a  star.  Yes,  you  were  a 
trial." 

Cyrus  laughed.     "Will  you  do  me  a  favor?" 

"Depends  on  what  it  is." 


1 82  Drowsy 

"Just  a  little  one?" 

"Probably  not.     But  what  is  it?" 

"You  remember  our  wedding  at  the  Unitarian 
Church,  away  back  in  that  enchanted  past?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  just  consider  that  ceremony  binding." 

"Now  you  are  getting  crazy  again." 

"No,  I  was  never  saner." 

"Very  likely,  but  you  are  crazy  now.  Why,  Drowsy, 
being  only  a  man,  you  don't  realize  how  lucky  we 
are  that  it  was  not  binding!" 

"Lucky  for  you,  perhaps,"  said  Cyrus,  "but  not  for 
me.  I  am  sure  you  are  even  more  desirable,  more 
beautiful,  more  generally  perfect  and  irresistible — if 
possible — than  you  were  then." 

"On  the  contrary.  If  you  could  see  me  by  daylight 
you  would  shout  for  joy  at  your  escape." 

"No,  Ruth,  you  can't  fool  me  that  way.  Are  you 
little  or  big?" 

He  groped  about  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"I  should  say  you  were  little." 

She  pushed  away  the  hand.  "Keep  your  hands  to 
yourself,  Cyrus.  You  forget  we  are  no  longer 
children." 

Cyrus  obeyed.  "True  enough.  But  we  were  really 
married,  you  know.  Surely  a  husband  may  touch  his 
wife's  shoulder.  Tell  me,  have  you  the  same  wonder 
working  eyes  and  mouth  and  haughty  bearing?  You 
are  not  a  great  big  woman,  I  have  discovered  that." 

"No,  I  am  neither  big  nor  lovely.    I  am  little  and 


Unsight  Unseen  183 

dried  up — and  wrinkled,  like  a  baked  apple — and  sur 
prisingly  ugly." 

"Dried  up  at  your  age?  May  I  touch  your  face  just 
a  little?" 

"You  may  not!" 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  matter.  There's  charm  in  baked 
apples.  There's  character  in  a  dried-up  face." 

"But  that  was  only  the  beginning.  As  I  dried  and 
shriveled,  my  hair  fell  out." 

"Good !  I  love  a  bald  head — especially  in  a  woman. 
There's  no  distinction  in  hair.  All  animals  have  it. 
In  that  delectable  period  of  sudden  marriages,  I  re 
member  some  things  clearly,  as  if  yesterday.  I  recall 
distinctly  the  eyes  of  my  bride.  No  man  could  forget 
them.  In  their  fathomless  depths  even  a  boy  could 
lose  himself.  And,  oh,  so  beautiful!  One  such  eye 
would  transform  a  dried  apple  face  into  a  thing  of 
joy.  And  in  that  bride's  face  were  two  of  them. 
Don't  tell  me  they,  also,  are  gone." 

"Only  one." 

"Too  bad!     Have  you  lost  any  limbs?" 

"Not  yet." 

"And  your  teeth  are  gone?" 

"Oh,  long,  long  ago." 

There  was  a  silence.  So  black  was  the  enveloping 
darkness  that  the  silence  itself  seemed  heavy,  as  if 
forbidding  conversation. 

At  last  Cyrus  spoke.  "So  far  as  I  can  learn,  your 
face  is  like  a  baked  apple,  your  teeth  and  one  eye  are 


184  Drowsy 

gone,  and  you  have  no  hair.  But  I'll  take  you  as 
you  are." 

Ruth  laughed.  "Why,  Cyrus!  That's  practically 
an  offer  of  marriage!  You  appear  even  wilder  and 
more  reckless  than  when  you  were  trying  to  discover 
whether  you  were  in  England  or  Massachusetts." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  wiser  than  you  think.  I 
was  in  love  with  you  in  Longfields — and  I  am  finding 
now  that  neither  time  nor  absence  have  changed  that 
feeling.  What's  a  tooth,  an  eye,  or  a  few  hairs  more 
or  less  to  an  honest  lover  ?" 

"Honest  humbug!  You  forget  how  well  I  knew 
you.  You  had  no  respect  for  truth." 

"Yes,  but  only  as  a  child.  I  am  telling  the  truth 
now,  on  my  honor.  Let's  not  separate  again.  Why, 
it's  beginning  a  new  life!  Come.  Let's  go  back  to 
the  Unitarian  Church  and  be  married  just  once  more. 
Only  once  more;  that's  all  I  ask." 

"Indeed  I  shall  not!  I  am  not  buying  a  pig  in  a 
poke.  When  daylight  came  and  I  really  saw  you  I 
might  be  sick  with  horror." 

"No,  no!  I'm  not  so  bad  as  that!  In  fact  I  look 
about  as  I  did  when  a  boy,  only — more  beautiful." 

"Then  you  are  a  funny  looking  man,  Drowsy,  with 
your  sleepy  eyes  and  your  little  buttoned-up  mouth." 

Cyrus  laughed.  "Xo,  I  swear  I'm  not  funny  look 
ing.  I  have  the  same  eyes,  but  my  mouth  is  three 
times  as  long.  It's  one  of  the  largest  and  most  ad 
mired  mouths  in  Massachusetts.  But  why  these  ques 
tions?  You  saw  me  a  few  minutes  ago  when  I  came 


Unsight  Unseen  185 

along.  The  glare  of  those  headlights  ought  to  illumi 
nate  any  kind  of  a  face." 

"You  held  your  hand  before  your  face  to  shade  your 
eyes." 

"So  I  did.  But,  seriously,  Ruthy,  I  realize  now  that 
all  my  old  feeling  for  you  has  never  died.  Your  voice 
alone  revives  the  memories  of  those  pleasant  years. 
Why  part  again?  It  might  be  forever." 

"A  thousand  reasons." 

"But  no  good  ones.  What  better  test  of  my  affec 
tion  could  you  want?  I  don't  ask  to  see  your  face. 
Your  voice,  your  words,  yourself,  and  old-time  memo 
ries  are  more  than  enough.  Come.  Say  yes." 

"No.  Never  in  the  world !  Suppose,  when  you 
could  really  see  me,  there  came  regrets.  What  a  posi 
tion  for  a  woman  !  Oh,  no !  Never  that !" 

"Don't  say  'never.'  " 

"Is  this  a  habit  of  yours — making  love  in  the  dark 
to  women  you  don't  know?  You  should  have  a  guard 
ian." 

"Be  that  guardian !" 

"Thank  you,  I  have  other  occupations." 

Here  came  a  silence.  The  thoughts  of  Cyrus,  what 
ever  they  might  be,  were  interrupted  by  Ruth : 

"You  must  think  me  a  most  adaptable  woman, 
Cyrus,  to  fall  in  love,  at  a  minute's  notice,  with  a  voice 
and  a  memory." 

"If  you  are  a  toothless,  hairless,  wrinkled,  one-eyed 
hag  you  ought  to  be  grateful." 


1 86  Drowsy 

"A  toothless  hag,  even  with  no  pride — may  have  a 
little  caution." 

"Anyway,"  said  Cyrus,  and  he  spoke  more  seriously 
— and  with  more  decision — "I  am  in  earnest.  I  may 
be  talking  like  a  fool — I  don't  know  how  to  express 
myself.  Meeting  you  again  is  like  a  new  life.  As  a 
little  girl,  Ruthy,  you  were  everything  to  me.  You 
don't  know  what  a  difference,  what  a  void  it  made 
when  you  vanished  and  left  me  adrift.  Now  that  we 
are  again  together,  and  I  am  older,  I  realize  what  I 
lost.  After  you  left  Longfields — and  your  leaving 
was  awfully  sudden,  if  you  remember — not  even  a 
chance  to  say  good-by — I  used  to  sit  on  your  doorstep 
and  try  to  think  you  would  come  out." 

"Is  that  true?" 

"On  my  honor.  And  one  moonlight  night  when 
father  and  Joanna  thought  I  was  in  bed  I  stood  at 
my  window  and  tried  to  get  a  message  to  you,  in  the 
old  way — hoping  a  thought  would  reach  you.  Then 
I  stole  out  of  the  house,  ran  to  yours  and  threw  little 
stones  against  the  closed  shutters  of  your  empty  cham 
ber.  Of  course  no  answer  came.  But  I  waited  and 
waited.  The  moonlight  seemed  to  encourage  me.  And 
when  I  had  waited  in  vain — a  very  long  time, — it 
seemed  a  year — I  pretended  you  came  to  the  window 
and  we  had  a  long  talk." 

She  laughed.     "And  what  did  I  say?" 

"You  said  just  what  I  wanted  you  to  say :  the  nicest 
things;  the  things  I  was  yearning  for.  Quite  dif 
ferent  from  what  you  are  saying  to-night." 


Unsight  Unseen  187 

"If  you  thought  of  me  so  much,  why  didn't  you 
write  to  me?" 

"I  did.     I  wrote  twice." 

"I  never  got  them." 

"I  will  tell  you  why  you  never  got  them  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  laugh." 

"I  promise." 

"They  were  directed  simply  to  Miss  Ruth  Heywood, 
China.  And  China,  I  have  learned  since,  is  a  larger 
place  than  Longfields." 

"Oh,  you  poor  boy!" 

"And  when  I  was  a  freshman  at  Cambridge,  I  tried 
hard  to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  because  she  reminded 
me  of  you." 

Ruth  was  silent.  Cyrus  went  on.  "When  you  first 
spoke  here,  a  few  minutes  ago,  your  voice  affected  me 
in  a  way — in  a  way  I  can't  describe.  It  seemed  to  open 
vistas  of  memory,  as  in  a  fairy  tale.  And  the  instant 
I  realized  that  we  were  again  together — why — it  all 
came  back  with  a  rush — as  of  sunshine — like  a  wave, 
or  a  flood  of  unexpected  happiness — and  hope." 

"Oh,  Drowsy,  what  charming  nonsense!" 

"Yes — it  is  nonsense,  if  that  kind  of  love  is  non 
sense — the  kind  that  begins  in  boyhood  and  never  dies 
— that  holds  to  one  woman  and  will  have  no  other." 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm.  In  her  voice  came  a 
gentler  note.  "Listen,  Drowsy.  My  uncle  and  I  are 
on  our  way  to  a  train.  I  am  starting  for  Italy.  When 
I  know  my  permanent  address  I  will — perhaps — see 
that  you  get  it — indirectly,  but  not  from  me.  Then, 


1 88  Drowsy 

without  committing  either  of  us,  if  you  are  still  as 
blind,  as  reckless  and  perverse  as  you  are  to-night, 
you  can— 

"Still  alive,  Ruth?" 

The  voice  came  from  the  darkness  and  was  close  be 
hind  them. 

Cyrns  was  presented  as  an  old  friend.  He  assisted 
the  uncle  in  pouring  the  gasoline  into  the  tank.  The 
uncle  was  in  haste  to  get  away,  still  hoping  to  catch 
a  train.  There  were  a  few  words  of  parting  before 
the  motor  with  its  two  occupants  slid  away  into  the 
darkness. 

This  parting,  to  Cyrus,  seemed  even  more  sudden 
than  the  old  one,  long  years  ago. 

For  many  minutes  he  stood  looking  in  their  direc 
tion.  The  night  was  black,  and  he  saw  nothing.  But 
in  his  heart  was  a  rosy  dawn. 

Incidentally,  but  of  far  less  importance,  he  knew 
on  what  portion  of  the  earth  he  had  landed. 


XII 

"INCREDIBLE!" 

A  PROSPEROUS,  self-reliant  man,  well  built, 
well  dressed  and  well  pleased  with  himself,  sat 
at  a  desk  in  his  private  office.  It  was  the 
senior  partner  of  the  firm — a  well  known  firm  of  Fifth 
Avenue  jewelers.  Being  a  wise  man,  he  was  wise 
enough  to  enjoy  a  reasonable  pride  in  his  own  wisdom  ; 
also  in  his  own  pleasing  personality,  and  in  his  own 
good  face  and  figure.  Now,  sixty  years  of  age,  he 
had,  moreover,  enjoyed  a  quarter  century  of  success — 
the  reward,  perhaps,  of  his  own  foresight  in  being  the 
son  of  a  prosperous  father.  He  had  inherited  a  well 
established  business.  As  a  leading  member  of  a  fash 
ionable  church  he  was  grateful  to  himself,  and  to  his 
Creator,  for  these,  his  many  blessings. 

Another  well-dressed  man — but  younger  than  him 
self — entered  abruptly  and  stood  beside  his  desk.    The 

189 


190  Drowsy 

Senior  Partner  looked  up  from  his  work,  nodded,  and 
smiled. 

"Good  morning,  William." 

"Good  morning,  Uncle  Fred." 

William  was  dapper,  even  more  up-to-date  in  ap 
pearance  than  his  uncle.  Although  more  carefully 
attired,  he  was  not  so  well  dressed.  For  William's 
hair  was  so  very  smooth,  and  all  that  pertained  to  him 
so  aggressively  fresh  and  clean,  his  clothes  so  fault 
lessly  in  fit,  his  cravat,  his  scarf  pin,  his  hair  and  his 
eyes  such  a  pleasing  harmony  in  shade  and  color  as 
to  divert  the  beholder's  attention  from  his  sensible 
face.  In  appearance  William  was  unjust  to  himself, 
giving  the  impression,  to  strangers,  of  a  vain  or  frivo 
lous  person.  He  was,  on  the  contrary,  a  very  intelli 
gent  man.  Also,  he  was  good.  At  the  present  mo 
ment  there  were  signs  of  suppressed  excitement  in  this 
cleanest  of  clean  faces. 

"Well,"  said  the  Senior  Partner,  "out  with  it." 

"You  remember  Cyrus  Alton,  don't  you,  Uncle 
Fred?" 

"No." 

"Well,  you  met  him  some  years  ago.  It  was  he  who 
saved  me  from  breaking  my  neck  in  the  amateur  cir 
cus  at  school." 

"Oh!     And  he  has  regretted  it  ever  since?" 

William  smiled.  "No,  sir.  I  hope  not.  But  it  was 
a  mighty  plucky  thing  to  do.  I  fell  from  the  trapeze 
and  he  was  on  the  ground  beneath.  When  he  saw  me 
coming,  instead  of  jumping  from  under,  like  a  sensi- 


"Incredible!"  191 

ble  boy,  he  held  out  his  arm  to  break  the  fall.  It 
threw  his  shoulder  out  of  joint,  but  saved  me  a  broken 
neck — so  we  all  thought." 

"Yes,  I  remember  now.  It  was  a  plucky  thing.  It 
showed  courage  and  presence  of  mind.  How  old  was 
he?" 

"About  my  age :  twelve,  I  guess,  or  thirteen." 

"He  certainly  played  the  hero  on  that  day.  Has  he 
lived  up  to  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  have  hardly  seen  him  since  we 
left  school.  I  always  liked  him.  We  were  great 
cronies — always  together." 

"Mighty  lucky  you  were  together  on  that  occasion. 
What's  his  occupation,  now?" 

"Oh,  chemistry  and  electricity.  Science  generally, 
I  guess.  But  I  don't  think  the  world  has  been  treating 
him  well.  His  clothes  are  kind  of  ancient,  and  he  looks 
hard  up.  He  lives  up  in  Massachusetts,  in  some  little 
town  or  village.  It's  a  dozen  years  since  I  have  seen 
him,  until  he  came  in,  a  few  minutes  ago,  with  a 
curious  kind  of  stone.  He  doesn't  know  what  it  is, 
and  wants  to  find  out.  Wants  us  to  tell  him.  It's  be 
yond  me,  though.  Would  you  mind  seeing  him  just  a 
minute,  and  looking  at  it?" 

"A  stone,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  kind  of  a  stone?" 

"That's  just  what  he  doesn't  know,  nor  I  either." 

"All  right,  show  him  in." 

To  the  hero  of  the  amateur  circus  came  a  cordial 


192  Drowsy 

greeting  from  the  Senior  Partner,  who  alluded  in  a 
most  friendly  manner  to  that  historic  occasion.  But 
were  he  not  familiar  with  the  story  he  would  have 
found  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  present  visitor  as 
the  hero  of  such  a  day.  For  that  wras  a  deed  requiring 
— to  say  nothing  of  courage — quick  decision,  quick 
action  and  that  perfect  confidence  in  physical  strength 
which  we  attribute  to  the  trained  athlete.  These  wide 
awake  qualities  were  not  suggested  in  any  degree  by 
the  slow  moving,  sleepy  eyed  young  man  of  slender 
figure  to  whom  Hurry  seemed  a  stranger.  This  man 
was  a  dreamer.  But  the  Senior  Partner  had  perhaps 
forgotten  that  the  brightest  pages  of  human  history 
have  been  furnished  by  dreamers  stirred  to  action. 
Moreover,  it  was  clearly  evident  that  this  young  man 
and  Prosperity  were  not  on  friendly  terms.  And  the 
dark  color  beneath  his  eyes  seemed  to  indicate  loss  of 
sleep  or  nervous  strain.  Now  the  Senior  Partner  had 
never  been  in  love  with  Poverty.  He  had  the  same 
sort  of  sympathy  for  it  that  Virtue  has  for  Vice ;  or 
that  Cleanliness  has  for  Dirt.  But  he  was  determined, 
on  William's  account,  to  treat  his  old  friend  with 
proper  consideration. 

After  a  short  conversation,  retrospective  and  educa 
tional,  the  visitor  laid  in  the  hand  of  the  Senior  Part 
ner  what  appeared  to  be  a  large  glass  door-knob.  It 
was  octagonal  in  shape  with  a  convex  top,  and  was 
broken  at  the  stem.  The  color  was  a  pale,  apple  green. 
The  Senior  Partner  adjusted  his  glasses  and  politely 
examined  it,  He  examined  it  with  the  same  tactful 


"Incredible!"  193 

consideration  he  would  show  to  any  well  meaning  per 
son  who  believes  his  imitation  pearl  a  priceless  gem. 
This  case,  however,  was  certainly  unusual.  The  man 
who  could  hand  you  a  very  large  glass  door  knob  and 
ask  your  opinion  on  it,  as  an  expert  in  gems,  required 
special  treatment.  And  when  the  Senior  Partner 
studied  the  visitor's  face  for  some  outward  indications 
of  the  amazing  credulity  within,  he  searched  in  vain. 
Instead  of  the  eager  eyes  and  parted  lips  of  a  touch- 
and-go  enthusiast  hoping  for  sudden  wealth,  he  en 
countered  a  firm,  though  boyish  mouth,  and  two  calm, 
dark,  almost  drowsy  eyes  that  met  his  own  with  a 
tranquil  sanity,  having  no  relation,  apparently,  to  their 
owner's  misguided  errand.  However,  the  Senior  Part 
ner  knew  from  experience  that  exteriors  were  decep 
tive. 

While  hesitating  for  words  that  might  reveal,  in  the 
gentlest  manner,  the  fact  that  the  object  was  worthless, 
his  nephew  spoke,  and  in  a  tone  of  eager  curiosity. 

"What  is  it,  Uncle  Fred?    What  can  it  be?" 

"That's  hard  to  say.  It  is  rather  large  for  a  door 
knob,  or  the  stopper  of  any  human  decanter.  It 
might  be  the  pendant  of  a  chandelier." 

"I  mean  what  is  it  made  of?    What  is  the  material?" 

"You  mean  what  kind  of  glass?" 

"Yes,  sir;  if  it — if  it  is  glass." 

"Then  you  think  it  is  not  glass?" 

"That's  what  we  want  to  find  out." 

This  uncle  was  not  misled  by  his  nephew's  earnest 
ness.  He  knew  William,  and  he  knew  him  to  be  a 


194  Drowsy 

ready  believer  in  interesting  things ;  one  who  could  pin 
his  faith  on  whatever  he  really  wished  to  believe.  And 
the  uncle  had  learned  that  this  capacity,  combined  with 
a  lively  imagination,  became  a  perilous  guide  in  mat 
ters  of  business.  However,  he  held  the  object  higher, 
between  his  eyes  and  the  window. 

"You  think  it  might  be  rock  crystal?"  Then,  turn 
ing  to  the  visitor,  "What  is  your  own  opinion,  Mr. 
Alton?" 

"Oh,  I  have  no  opinion ;  only  hopes." 

"And  what  are  your  hopes  ?" 

Now  Cyrus  Alton  had  easily  divined  the  Senior 
Partner's  thoughts.  "Hope  is  so  inexpensive,"  he  an 
swered,  "that  I  have  been  indulging  in  the  brightest 
kind.  But  if  I  am  flying  too  high  I  can  easily  come 
to  earth  again.  Is  it  nothing  but  glass,  after  all?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that." 

But  the  Senior  Partner  still  marveled  that  any  edu 
cated  person  should  prove  so  gullible  as  to  be  deceived 
by  this  object  in  his  hand.  He  looked  again,  and  more 
carefully,  at  the  visitor's  face.  This  time  the  boyish 
mouth  seemed  to  indicate  nothing  but  inexperience. 
The  heavy  lidded  eyes,  however,  calmly  returned  the 
searching  gaze,  as  if  they  themselves  were  searching; 
—yet  in  a  sleepy  way,  it  seemed  to  the  Senior  Partner. 
And  the  Senior  Partner  was  strengthened  in  his  con 
viction  that  a  man  with  those  eyes  and  with  such  a 
mouth  could  believe  almost  anything.  Yet  he  liked 
the  young  man's  face.  His  voice  was  pleasant,  and 
his  manner  of  speech,  while  punctiliously  polite  and 


"Incredible!"  195 

considerate  of  others,  indicated  decision  and  self- 
reliance. 

"But,  Uncle  Fred,"  said  William,  "it  is  so  heavy  for 
its  size.  And  it's  cold,  like  a  diamond.  And  it  has 
that  oily  feeling  on  the  polished  face.  It  surely  is 
not  an  artificial  stone." 

"No,  possibly  not.  But  the  color,  this  pale,  apple 
green,  while  an  exquisite  tint,  is  not  usual  in  dia 
monds." 

"But  the  famous  'Dresden'  is  that  color,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  so;  but  the  famous  'Dresden'  is 
smaller  than  a  paving  stone.  This  object,  as  you  see, 
if  a  natural  stone,  must  have  been  nearly  twice  its 
present  dimensions  before  cutting.  And  even  now  it 
is  fully  twice  the  size  of  any  diamond  of  which  we 
have  ever  heard.  You  young  gentlemen  will  admit 
that  it  must  be  the  house  of  an  exceedingly  prosperous 
person  where  bulky  door  knobs  were  composed  of 
single  diamonds." 

Nephew  \Yilliam  frowned  and  drummed  with  his 
fingers  on  the  top  of  the  desk. 

"And  I  doubt,"  continued  the  Senior  Partner  with 
his  pleasant  smile,  "if  there  are  many  mines  that  yield 
jewels  the  size  of  ostrich  eggs." 

Cyrus  Alton's  eyes,  in  a  dreamy  way,  were  fixed  up 
on  the  stone.  "Couldn't  this  have  come  from  some 
other  planet?" 

"Possibly,  as  a  meteorite.  But  precious  stones  have 
not  the  habit  of  coming  from  that  direction.  How- 


196  Drowsy 

ever,  nothing  concerning  astronomy  can  surprise  us. 
Might  I  ask  where  you  found  it,  Mr.  Alton?" 

Mr.  Alton  hesitated.  As  he  drew  a  hand  across  his 
forehead  the  Senior  Partner  and  his  nephew  noticed 
a  hole  in  the  faded  and  shiny  coat  sleeve ;  also  that  the 
linen  cuff  with  its  frayed  edges  had  no  fastenings. 
William's  silent  guess  was  correct.  "The  poor  chap 
has  had  to  sell  his  cuff  buttons." 

"If  you  don't  mind,  sir,  I  would  rather  not  answer 
that  question  just  at  present." 

"Certainly.     Of  course  not!     Excuse  my  asking." 

"I  am  the  one  to  apologize,  sir.  It  is  a  most  natural 
question,  and  I  will  answer  it  later." 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Alton,  you  understand  my  asking 
that  question.  The  answer  might  give  us  light  that 
would  solve  the  riddle.  If,  for  instance,  you  found  it 
among  broken  fragments  in  a  glass  factory,  we  might 
be  prejudiced  regarding  its  ancestry." 

"No.    It  was  many  miles  from  any  factory." 

"On  the  other  hand,  if  unearthed  in  a  diamond  mine, 
or  discovered  on  the  forehead  of  a  Hindoo  god  it's 
claim  to  distinction  would  be  more  clearly  defined." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  I  thought  an  expert  might 
judge  the  value  of  a  stone  without  knowing  its 
history." 

"Certainly,  certainly.  But  sometimes  a  ray  of  light 
on  a  doubtful  subject  facilitates  a  decision.  If  this 
majestic  door  knob,  fragment  of  a  balustrade,  pendant 
to  a  chandelier,  or  whatever  its  original  purpose — if 
this  object  is  a  diamond,  Mr.  Alton,  it  means  a  for- 


"Incredible!"  197 

tune  to  its  owner.  And  I  sincerely  wish  it  were  a 
diamond." 

"But  you  know  it  isn't?" 

"I  don't  say  that;  but  no  lapidary  would  ever  cut  a 
diamond  as  this  is  cut."  Then,  with  a  friendly  smile 
as  he  handed  it  back  to  its  owner,  "If  William  here, 
or  anybody  else  should  offer  you  real  money  for 
it " 

"You  advise  me  to  take  it." 

The  Senior  Partner  smiled  and  nodded.  Cyrus 
Alton  rose.  "I  thank  you  sincerely,  sir,  for  this  in 
terview  and  for  your  opinion  on  my  bogus  gem."  The 
Senior  Partner  also  rose,  and  in  shaking  hands  laid  his 
other  hand  on  the  visitor's  shoulder.  "It  may  console 
you,  Mr.  Alton,  to  know  that  you  are  not  the  first 
person — nor  the  hundredth,  for  that  matter — to  be 
undeceived  here  in  this  office.  The  brightest  hopes, 
especially  with  would-be  pearls  and  diamonds,  often 
vanish  even  more  swiftly  than  they  come." 

While  the  smiling,  leisurely  mouth  of  Cyrus  was 
getting  ready  to  reply,  a  door  opened,  and  a  man  en 
tered.  It  was  a  short,  stout  man  with  fierce  black 
eyebrows,  black  eyes  and  a  heavy  black  beard,  all  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  whitest  and  baldest  of  heads. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Bressani !"  exclaimed  the  Senior  Partner. 
"You  are  just  the  man!"  After  presenting  Mr.  Bres 
sani  to  the  visitor  he  said :  "Give  us  the  truth  about 
this  stone.  \Yhat  is  it?"  And  he  took  the  stone  from 
Cyrus  and  handed  it  to  the  new  arrival. 

Now  Mr,  Bressani  was  more  than  an  expert,    His 


198  Drowsy 

instinct  in  the  matter  of  gems  was  abnormal.  It  was 
something  more  than  instinct.  It  was  a  singular,  in 
nate  sense;  one  of  those  unexplained  faculties  that  en 
ables  its  possessor  to  judge  offhand,  with  certainty  and 
precision,  where  others  must  weigh  and  reason.  In 
important  matters  he  was  sought  by  jewelers.  And 
there  was  no  recorded  case  in  which  he  had  been 
deceived. 

Now,  as  he  held  the  doubtful  object  in  his  fat,  white 
fingers,  he  suspected  from  the  smile  on  the  face  of  the 
Senior  Partner  that  a  joke  was  in  the  air.  When  he 
saw  what  was  in  his  hand — apparently  a  piece  of 
greenish  glass — he  raised  his  heavy  black  eyebrows, 
and,  with  a  sidelong  glance,  studied  the  faces  of  the 
three  men,  one  after  another,  to  make  sure  they  were 
not  laughing  at  him.  Nephew  William  smiled  but 
shook  his  head.  "No,  we  are  serious.  Tell  us  what 
you  think." 

Still  doubtful,  Mr.  Bressani  held  it  nearer  his  eye, 
turned  it  over  in  his  large,  baby  fingers,  moved  it 
slowly  up  and  down,  evidently  guessing  its  weight,  and 
slowly  passed  a  thumb  over  its  surface.  Then,  as  if 
surprised,  he  stepped  hastily  to  the  window  and  held  it 
between  his  eyes  and  the  light.  Wheeling  about,  his 
eyebrows  darted  up  in  surprise.  These  eyebrows,  thick 
and  heavy,  flew  heavenward  so  swiftly  and  they 
traveled  so  far  that  they  seemed  to  pull  upon  his  big 
black  eyes  to  twice  their  usual  size  and  roundness. 
These  astonished  orbs  he  rolled  toward  the  three  men 
as  if  startled  by  a  miracle.  They  proclaimed  a  be- 


"r.l'T  WHO    KVKR   SAW   SUCH   A    DIAMOND:"  —  P.Jf/ 


"Incredible!"  199 

wildering,  overwhelming  astonishment  that  his  half- 
open  lips  could  not  express. 

"Why,  it's  a  diamond!" 

The  Senior  Partner  rose  and  moved  toward  him. 
"Are  you  sure?" 

But  Mr.  Bressani  did  not  reply.  Lost  in  wonder, 
apparently  unconscious  of  his  surroundings,  he  turned 
the  object  over  and  over,  in  every  light,  and  at  every 
angle.  "Extraordinary!"  he  murmured.  "Extraor 
dinary!  It  doesn't  seem  possible." 

"But  are  you  sure?"  repeated  the  Senior  Partner. 

"Absolutely." 

"But  who  ever  saw  such  a  diamond?" 

"Nobody!  Nobody!  It's  incredible — miraculous — 
inconceivable.  There  never  was  such  a  thing !" 

"Just  what  I  have  been  saying,"  from  the  Senior 
Partner.  "Nobody  would  ever  cut  a  diamond  in  that 
shape.  And  look  at  the  size  of  it!  And  the  color!" 

"Yes,  yes !    It's  hard  to  believe !" 

"But  you  do  believe  it?" 

The  bushy  eyebrows  went  up,  then  down,  with  a 
shrug  of  shoulders.  "Believe  it?  I  know  it!  What 
do  you  think  it  is,  glass?" 

"Well — er — yes,  to  be  honest.  I  didn't  know  what 
else  it  could  be.  No  human  being  ever  saw  a  diamond 
of  those  dimensions." 

"We  are  seeing  it  now.     But  whose  is  it?" 

"It  belongs  to  Mr.  Alton." 

"I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Alton.  You  possess  the 
most  amazing  diamond  in  history  or  fiction." 


200  Drowsy 

Cyrus  bowed.  "Then  it  is  the  largest  you  have  ever 
seen?" 

''Twice  over.  The  famous  Culinan  stone,  the 
largest  yet  discovered,  was  about  half  this  size." 

"Let's  weigh  it,"  said  William. 

The  expert  placed  it  on  the  little  scales  that  stood 
on  the  top  of  the  Senior  Partner's  desk.  The  three 
men  waited  in  silence  for  the  verdict.  After  a  close 
scrutiny  of  the  scales  Mr.  Bressani  straightened  up, 
turned  toward  the  three  pairs  of  eyes — all  fixed  in 
tently  on  his  own — and  exclaimed : 

"Really — it  is  hard  to  believe !" 

"How  much?"  came,  in  the  same  breath,  from  the 
Senior  Partner  and  his  nephew. 

"Seventy-one  hundred  carats!" 

The  nephew  laughed  nervously.  "Why — there 
never  was  such  a  diamond !" 

The  Senior  Partner  frowned.     "Impossible !" 

Mr.  Bressani's  hand  trembled  slightly,  as  he  lifted 
the  stone  from  the  scales  and  again  held  it  to  the  light. 
"Yes — yes — it  does  seem  impossible !" 

"But  nobody  ever  saw  such  a  diamond !"  was  again 
announced  by  William. 

"Never!"  from  Mr.  Bressani. 

"How  much  did  the  Culinan  weigh?"  William 
asked. 

"About  three  thousand  and  thirty  carats  in  the 
rough — about  a  pound  and  three-quarters.  It  was 
cut  into  three  large  stones  and  several  smaller  ones. 


"Incredible!"  201 

Two  of  these  stones  are  the  largest  brilliants  in  ex 
istence." 

"But,  are  you  sure,  Bressani,"  said  the  Senior 
Partner,  "absolutely  sure  that  it  is  a  diamond?" 

Mr.  Bressani  smiled,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
with  a  gesture  of  both  hands,  palms  out,  replied, 
slowly : 

"I  am  not  a  rich  man,  but  whatever  property  I 
possess,  and  whatever  I  can  borrow  up  to  a  million 
dollars  I  would  gladly  give  to  Mr.  Alton  if  I  might 
own  this  stone." 

Cyrus  Alton's  eyes  opened  wider.  "A  million 
dollars?" 

"Easily.  You  see,  it  will  cut  to  four  or  five  stones 
of  extraordinary  size,  and — unless  I  am  much  mis 
taken — of  perfect  purity.  Also,  the  color — this  lovely, 
delicate,  applegreen  tint  is  almost  unknown.  The  only 
diamond  of  this  color  in  the  world,  of  any  importance, 
is  the  famous  Dresden  Green,  one  of  the  crown  jewels 
of  Saxony." 

"Is  this  much  larger,"  inquired  Cyrus,  "than  that 
Dresden  diamond?" 

"Many  times  larger." 

"And  much  larger  than  any  of  the  famous  dia 
monds?" 

"Yes,  indeed !  Much,  much,  very  much  larger.  No 
comparison,  in  fact.  Why,  Mr.  Alton,  if  this  were 
cut  to  one  stone,  half  its  present  size — as  a  rough 
guess — it  would  be  over  three  thousand  carats." 

Nephew  William  gasped.     "Three  thousand  carats! 


202  Drowsy 

Why,  there's  nothing  like  it!  It  would  be  the  most 
famous  stone  in  the  world !" 

"No  doubt  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Bressani. 

"How  much  is  the  Great  Mogul?"  asked  William. 

"Less  than  two  hundred  carats." 

"And  the  Koh-i-noor?" 

"One  hundred  and  eight." 

"And  the  Star  of  the  South?" 

"About  a  hundred  and  twenty-seven  carats." 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  Hope  diamond?" 

"Yes ;  forty-five  carats.  Almost  circular  in  shape ; 
sold  for  eighteen  thousand  pounds.  But  it  is  believed 
— at  least  there  is  a  story — that  it  brings  bad  luck  to 
its  owners." 

"It  is  blue,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  blue,  and  a  good  color,  but  not  so  beautiful 
nor  so  rare,  as  this  shade  of  green.  This  is  a  wonder." 
And  as  he  spoke  he  turned  the  stone  in  every  light. 
"It's  a  marvelous  thing.  Marvelous!  Almost  unbe 
lievable!" 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  said  Cyrus,  "about  how  much  it 
is  worth?" 

Mr.  Bressani  shrugged  his  shoulders :  "Anything." 

"You  mean,"  said  the  Senior  Partner,  "it  would  be 
impossible  to  guess,  even  approximately,  at  its  value?" 

"Yes.  For  you  know  the  value  of  diamonds  is 
speculative — depending  on  many  conditions ;  size, 
shape,  purity,  color — and  how  they  cut.  The  Victoria 
— one  hundred  and  eighty  carats — was  sold  for  four 
hundred  thousand  pounds.  But  diamonds  were  rarer 


"Incredible!"  203 

then.  This,  when  properly  cut  into  the  right  number 
of  stones,  would  bring  more  than  three  million  dol 
lars/' 

William,  in  his  enthusiasm,  slapped  his  friend  on  the 
back.  "Well,  old  man,  you  have  struck  it  rich  this 
time." 

The  calm-eyed  Cyrus  smiled  and  nodded. 

"Then  this  diamond  of  mine,"  he  said,  "would  be 
ten  times  bigger  than  the  Koh-i-noor  or  any  of  those 
other  stones?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Isn't  there  a  famous  Sanci  diamond?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  that  weighed  only  fifty-three  carats. 
The  Sanci  diamond  was  famous  more  from  its  unusual 
history  than  from  its  size." 

"What  was  its  history,  Bressani?"  said  the  Senior 
Partner.  "I  never  heard  it." 

"Well,  it  belonged  to  Charles  the  Bold,  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  who  was  wearing  it  in  his  hat  at  the  battle 
of  Nancy,  the  day  he  was  killed.  A  Swiss  soldier 
found  it  and  sold  it  to  a  clergyman  for  a  gulden  ;  about 
forty  cents.  Then  it  came  into  possession  of  Anton, 
King  of  Portugal,  who  sold  it  for  100,000  Francs. 
Soon  afterwards  it  became  the  property  of  a  French 
gentleman  named  Sanci.  A  descendant  of  this  Sanci 
was  sent  by  Henry  III  as  ambassador  to  Soluere  and 
the  King  required  the  diamond  as  a  pledge.  The  ser 
vant  who  was  carrying  it  to  the  King  was  attacked  by 
robbers  and  murdered,  but  before  dying  he  swallowed 
the  diamond.  His  master,  knowing  his  devotion,  had 


2O4  Drowsy 

the  body  opened  and  found  the  diamond  in  his  stom 
ach." 

"And  where  is  it  now?"  asked  Cyrus. 

"It  was  bought  by  a  Russian  nobleman  in  1835,  for 
half  a  million  rubles;  about  four  hundred  thousand 
dollars." 

"Jove!"  exclaimed  William.  "Some  difference  in 
price  between  forty  cents  and  four  hundred  thousand 
dollars!" 

"And  how  much  bigger,"  asked  William,  "is  this 
than  the  Sanci?" 

"That  weighed  fifty-three  carats.  This,  when  cut, 
would  weigh  about  three  thousand." 

"Jove!  Sixty  times  as  much!  Would  it  be  worth 
sixty  times  four  hundred  thousand  dollars?  That 
would  be  about  twenty-four  million  dollars." 

Mr.  Bressani  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "Times 
were  different  then — and  to-day  there  are  more  dia 
monds." 

"I  suppose  many  of  the  famous  jewels,"  said  Wil 
liam,  "if  they  could  speak,  might  tell  us  stories  as  sur 
prising  as  the  Sanci's." 

Then  Cyrus  Alton,  in  a  low  voice,  addressing  no 
body  in  particular,  said  :  "It  would  be  worth  the  price 
of  this  diamond  to  know  its  history." 

The  Bressani  eyebrows  went  up — high  up — and 
then  far  down.  And  beneath  the  frown  the  fierce  eyes 
looked  eagerly  toward  the  speaker.  "Has  it  a  remark 
able  history,  Mr.  Alton?" 

Cyrus    smiled,    slowly    and    somewhat    sadly,    and 


"Incredible!"  205 

gently  shook  his  head.  "I  wish  I  knew.  I  would 
almost  give  the  diamond's  price  to  know  its  story- 
much  as  I  need  the  money." 

"Do  you  know  nothing  of  its  history?" 

"Nothing.  I  only  know  that  if  we  could  see  what 
that  stone  has  seen  we  should  enter  a  new  field  of 
knowledge.  It  would  throw  light  upon  a  world  of  un 
known  things,  earlier  than  human  history." 

In  silence  the  jewelers  regarded  the  speaker,  as  if 
waiting  for  some  explanation  of  his  words. 

Mr.  Bressani's  eyebrows  had  shot  up  to  the  highest 
attitude  yet  attained.  In  a  low  voice,  but  in  a  tone 
that  showed  the  liveliest  curiosity,  he  asked,  "Just 
what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Alton?" 

"I  mean  the  story  of  this  diamond's  country  would 
be  a  story  so  overwhelming,  so  far  beyond  us,  so  com 
plete  and  final  in  its  stupendous  tragedy  that  our  own 
human  drama  would  seem  a  trifling  comedy." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  a  calm  but  earnest  man 
ner,  and  they  impressed  the  listeners.  A  silence  fol 
lowed.  Then  Mr.  Bressani  asked:  "What  is  this 
diamond's  country?" 

Cyrus  hesitated.  He  knew  that  if  he  told  the  truth 
it  would  appear  incredible  to  his  hearers — like  a  fairy 
tale  for  children:  that  he  would  be  regarded  either  as 
a  fool,  to  be  pitied,  or  as  a  willful  liar.  While  he  hesi 
tated  the  Senior  Partner  came  to  his  rescue. 

"Mr.  Alton  has  already  informed  us  that  he  has  rea 
sons  for  not  telling  where  he  found  it." 

Mr.  Bressani's  enthusiasm,  however, — and  his  curi- 


206  Drowsy 

osity — were  far  too  strong  for  accepting  so  easy  a 
defeat.  "But  what  part  of  the  world?  He  can  tell  us 
that." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Cyrus,  "I  don't  know, 
myself,  the  name  of  that  particular  country." 

Again  the  bushy  Bressani  eyebrows  sailed  aloft,  then 
dropped  and  beetled  over  the  fierce  black  eyes.  "You 
don't  know  in  what  country  you  were  when  you  found 
it — or  bought  it?" 

"I  am  not  sure  that  it  has  a  name." 

"A  most  unusual  country !" 

"Yes,  it  certainly  is ; — most  unusual." 

Nephew  William  laughed.  "And  it  must  be  a  long 
way  off,  Cyrus." 

"It  is." 

"And  pretty  small,  if  it  has  no  name." 

"No,  not  so  small.  But  its  name  was  long  ago  for 
gotten.  There  are  no  survivors  to  remember  it." 

"But  you  can  tell  us,"  said  Mr.  Bressani,  "whether 
it  is  North  of  here,  or  East,  or  West,  or  South." 

"Why — er — really,  I  couldn't  tell  you  even  that. 
Nobody  could." 

"Perhaps  it's  beneath  us,  or  above";  and  in  the 
Senior  Partner's  tone  was  a  suggestion  of  irony. 

Cyrus  ignored  the  tone  and  answered  pleasantly  :  "I 
am  not  trying  to  deceive,  or  to  mislead  you  in  any  way, 
but  it  really  is  a  journey  in  which  points  of  the  com 
pass  are  no  guides  whatever." 

On  the  faces  of  the  three  jewelers  came  three  invol 
untary  frowns. 


"A  MOST  UNUSUAL  COUNTRY!"— Pace  200 


"Incredible!"  207 

"You  are  certainly  having  fun  with  us,  Cyrus,"  said 
William. 

"No,  not  at  all.  But,  you  see,  a  compass  would  be 
useless  where  there  is  no  such  thing  as  North  and 
South." 

"No  such  thing  as  North  and  South!" 

"No.  Nor  East  and  West.  The  needle  would  lose 
its  bearings.  It  wouldn't  know  where  to  point." 

"Oh,  come  now!  Is  that  a  joke?  Are  we  to  laugh 
at  it?" 

Cyrus  smiled.  "I  should  not  blame  you  for  laugh 
ing — but  it  is  not  a  joke.  I  am  telling  the  truth." 

"You  mean  to  say,  I  suppose,  that  you  had  such 
bad  weather — electrical  storms,  perhaps, — that  the 
needle  couldn't  work." 

"No,  there  was  no  weather  at  all." 

"You  mean  no  bad  weather?" 

"Nor  good  weather,  either." 

With  some  impatience  William  demanded :  "Now 
just  what  do  you  mean,  Cyrus?" 

"I  mean,  that  in  going  and  coming,  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  wind  nor  rain,  nor  sunshine.  It  was  all 
twilight — a  dusk  that  was  almost  darkness.  It  was  a 
trackless,  uncharted  voyage.  And  not  a  shore  to  touch 
at." 

"Then  you  crossed  an  ocean?     It  was  all  by  sea?" 

"No.     There  was  no  sea — no  water  anywhere." 

This  time  William  made  no  effort  to  hide  his  annoy 
ance.  He  merely  whistled,  and  walked  away,  toward 
the  window. 


208  Drowsy 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Billy,  for  being  enraged,"  and 
Cyrus  also  stood  up.  "But  on  my  honor,  I  am  telling 
you  the  truth.  And  I  am  willing  to  tell  you  anything 
except  the  exact  location.  Later  on  you  will  under 
stand  my  reasons  for  being  so  secretive." 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  us,"  said  Mr.  Bressani,  "in 
what  surroundings  you  found  it :  whether  under 
ground  or  above." 

"Above.     Just  lying  on  the  ground." 

"My  own  guess,"  said  William,  "from  its  being 
already  cut,  is  that  some  oriental  chap  either  gave  it 
to  you  or  sold  it." 

"No,  I  found  it,  entirely  by  accident — among  some 
ruins." 

Mr.  BressanTs  eyebrows  again  went  up.  "Ruins 
of  what?" 

"Of  an  ancient  building — a  very,  very  ancient 
building." 

"But  covered  with  earth,  I  suppose,  and  overgrown 
with  vines." 

"No.    Not  a  trace  of  vegetation  anywhere  in  sight." 

"It  must  be  a  melancholy  place." 

"It  is." 

"But  once  a  city?" 

"I  think  so." 

"The  ruins  of  Palmyra !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bressani. 
"They  are  now  a  sandy  waste." 

"No;  many  thousands  of  miles  from  Palmyra." 

"Many  thousands  of  miles!  That  means  a  long 
distance," 


T   ONL'K   A    CITY?"--/'. 


"OI.DKR   THAN    III'MAN    HISTORY"   -F.it'  209 


"Incredible!"  209 

"It  is  a  long  distance." 

"Then  it  can't  be  any  part  of  Asia,  or  even  India?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Africa,  perhaps?" 

"No." 

"A  South  American  diamond?" 

"No." 

As  Mr.  Bressani's  ferocious,  black  eyebrows  settled 
down  over  his  eyes  the  Senior  Partner  laughed.  "This 
reminds  me  of  the  game  of  twenty  questions.  And 
you  are  surely  the  victor,  Mr.  Alton." 

But  Mr.  Bressani  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  think 
of  jokes  or  games.  "You  say  these  ruins  are  very 
old?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  old?    Greek  or  Roman,  perhaps?" 

"Older  than  human  history." 

Again  the  three  listeners  frowned.  With  a  shade 
of  sarcasm  the  Senior  Partner  addressed  his  nephew : 
"Mr.  Alton  has  a  poet's  fancy." 

Cyrus  understood,  but  his  face  showed  no  annoy 
ance.  Smilingly  he  said,  "You  will  get  more  digesti 
ble  answers,  perhaps,  if  you  don't  ask  me  where  I 
found  it.  The  whole  adventure  is  incredible.  If  I 
told  you  the  truth  you  would  not  believe  me." 

"Try  us,"  said  William. 

The  Senior  Partner  waved  his  hand  in  apology. 
"Please  don't  think  we  doubt  your  word,  Mr.  Alton. 
But  when  you  say  older  than  human  history  you  are 
speaking  figuratively,  as  it  were." 


210  Drowsy 

"No,  sir.  I  am  speaking  literally.  It  is  the  belief 
of  scientists  that  millions  of  years  have  passed  since 
any  changes  have  occurred  in  that — in  that — terri 
tory." 

"Millions  of  years!" 

"Yes,  sir.  It  is  somewhat  a  matter  of  geology. 
And  a  geological  period,  you  know,  is  still  young  at  a 
million  years." 

The  Senior  Partner  nodded  politely.  "Yes — very 
true.  But,  as  diamonds  are  found  in  so  few  places 
perhaps  you  will  tell  us,  just  to  gratify  a  natural  curi 
osity,  what  kind  of  a  region  you  have  discovered — the 
general  nature  of  the  country." 

"The  nature  of  the  country?"  Cyrus  Alton  repeated. 
Then,  lowering  his  eyes,  as  if  better  to  recall  the  scene, 
he  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "The  nature  of  the  coun 
try,"  he  again  repeated,  and  his  manner  became  seri 
ous.  "No  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  blade  of  grass  is  there ; 
no  living  thing  of  any  kind :  no  birds — nor  air  to  fly 
in; — not  a  drop  of  water.  The  surface  of  the  earth — 
no,  not  earth  for  there  is  no  earth — is  stone — and 
ashes.  'Tis  a  cinder — the  mummy  of  a  world :  an 
unending  necropolis.  Once  it  was  thickly  populated. 
Now  it  is  the  Land  of  Death,  and  deader  than  Death 
itself.  Not  even  a  memory  is  there,  for  those  who 
might  remember  have  been  dead  uncounted  ages. 
They  themselves  are  long  since  forgotten." 

On  the  faces  of  his  little  audience  Cyrus  saw  a  mild 
bewilderment — and  curiosity. 


"Incredible!"  211 

"You  say  we  have  all  heard  of  this  country?"  asked 
the  Senior  Partner. 

"Yes,  and  you  have  seen  it — from  a  distance." 

"Are  you  sure,"  said  William,  "that  we  have  all 
seen  it?" 

"Yes,  absolutely  sure." 

"And  we  have  probably  been  there?" 

"No— I  think  not." 

"Then,  how  could  we  see  it? — from  a  railway  train 
—or  from  a  steamship?" 

Cyrus  smiled.  "Yes,  you  could  see  it  that  way — 
if  you  wished." 

"But  how  do  you  know  we  have  never  been  there?" 

"I  don't." 

"You  only  think  it." 

"Yes,  I  only  think  it.  You  may  have  been  there. 
I  am  quite  sure,  however,  that  you  have  not." 

"But  why  so  sure,  Cyrus?"  You  have  been  there 
yourself." 

"Yes." 

"And  what  man  has  done  man  can  do." 

"Yes,  sometimes,  but  not  always,  Billy.  Only  one 
man  has  eaten,  for  instance,  a  certain  huckleberry. 
And,  as  a  rule,  only  one  man  marries  his  own  par 
ticular  girl.  You,  for  instance,  have  seen  the  top  of 
Trinity  spire,  but  you  have  never  been  there." 

"You  may  as  well  say  I  have  seen  the  moon,  but 
never  been  there." 

Cyrus   laughed,   quite  a  hearty  little  laugh,   as   if 


212  Drowsy 

thoroughly  amused.  "Well  I  do  say  it.  And  it's  true, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  it  has  no  relation  to  the  argument." 

"Why  not?  I  am  merely  proving  my  statement, 
that  you  have  seen  interesting  places  which  you  have 
never  visited.  Either  Trinity  spire  or  the  moon  might 
hold  this  diamond." 

"But  Trinity  spire  does  not  fit  your  description  of 
the  country." 

Again  Cyrus  seemed  amused.  "But  the  moon  fits 
it." 

William  laughed.  "Well,  Cyrus,  you  are  just  the 
same  boy  in  an  argument  that  you  were  at  school. 
And  how  mad  I  used  to  get !  But  this  mysterious  land 
that  you  are  concealing  so  successfully,  the  land  we 
have  all  seen  but  never  touched — or  even  heard  about, 
apparently — must  be  a  God-forsaken  district.  Is  it  a 
desert — like  Sahara,  for  instance?" 

"No,  quite  different.  This  is  rock,  with  plains  of 
lava  from  volcanic  mountains  and  everywhere,  in  all 
directions,  dust  and  ashes :  the  dried  bones  of  its  own 
past — whatever  it  was.  The  whole  surface  of  the 
country  seems  upheaved  and  torn,  all  on  a  gigantic 
scale,  as  if  it  was  baked  too  much,  then  split  and 
sundered  in  the  cooling.  A  fantastic,  solemn  region." 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  said  William,  at  last,  "I  still  main 
tain  that  I  have  ne^er  seen  the  place — nor  anything 
like  it." 

"I  said  from  a  distance." 

"Must  have  been  a  mighty  long  distance:' 


DRIIvl)    HONKS  OK  ITS  OWN    PAST.  \\HATKVKR    IT  WAS"  — />.»f,  .?/_> 


"UL  r  \\IIY  in  ii. i)  THIIR  tmi:s  is  TH«>SK  SI/XI.KSS  c 


"Incredible!"  213 

"It  was." 

"And  a  mighty  unusual  country!" 

"It  is.  Scattered  about  are  high  mountains,  once 
volcanoes.  And  in  the  craters  of  these  old  volcanoes 
some  of  them  many  miles  across,  I  saw  the  ruins  of 
cities.  There  must  be  hundreds  of  these  mountains, 
and  hundreds  of  ruined  cities." 

"Then  you  traveled  over  the  whole  country." 

"No,  indeed!  But  I  looked  down  on  it  as  I  ap 
proached,  and  could  take  in  a  vast  area." 

William  straightened  up,  and  his  eyes  opened  wider. 
"Oho!  Then  you  went  there  in  an  air-ship!" 

Cyrus  nodded. 

"That  accounts  for  no  water  on  the  voyage,  and 
all  that  other  stuff  you  gave  us. 

Again  Cyrus  nodded.  And,  with  a  broad  smile  of 
amusement :  "It  might  also  account  for  Trinity  spire 
and  the  moon." 

But  his  audience  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  be 
thwarted  by  jokes.  "Yes,  yes!"  said  Mr.  Bressani. 
"That  explains  much  that  you  have  said.  Please  con 
tinue." 

\Yilliam,  however,  with  a  frown,  leaned  back 
against  the  desk.  "Cyrus,  I  still  believe  you  are  lying 
to  us." 

"No,  truly  I  am  not.  I  don't  pretend  to  give  you 
the  whole  truth,  but  what  I  do  tell  you  is  the  truth 
and  nothing  else." 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Alton,"  said  the  Senior  Partner.  "We 
interrupted  you.  It  certainly  is  an  amazing  country." 


214  Drowsy 

Cyrus  continued.  "The  whole  country  is  cracked 
and  broken  with  chasms.  From  one  volcano  canons 
radiate  in  all  directions.  They  are  miles  in  width,  and 
they  seem  bottomless.  And  even  in  these  canons,  on 
projecting  ledges,  are  the  ruins  of  cities." 

"But  why  should  they  build  their  cities  in  those 
sunless  chasms?" 

"My  belief  is  that  the  moisture  evaporated,  then  the 
surface  of  all  that  country  became  so  unbearably  hot 
—with  no  atmosphere  as  protection  from  the  sun's 
rays — that  the  inhabitants  were  driven  to  the  canons." 

"What  a  life !    No  wonder  they  all  died !" 

"That  portion  of  the  universe,"  said  Cyrus,  "is  the 
desolation  of  desolation,  the  tragedy  of  tragedies.  It 
is  a  world  of  ashes.  And  over  everything  an  awful 
silence,  a  silence  that  frightens  you.  The  stillness  of 
death,  compared  to  it,  is  a  merry  waltz." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  find  this  country?" 

"I  had  heard  of  it.  You  all  know  about  it  in  a 
general  way,  as  I  have  already  said.  But  I  tried  to  get 
there  and  happened  to  succeed." 

William  shook  his  head.  "Sorry  to  contradict  you, 
Cyrus,  but  I  never  heard  of  such  a  place." 

Cyrus  laughed.  "Oh,  yes,  you  have!  Excuse  me, 
but  you  have  all  read  about  it,  and  seen  many  pictures 
of  it." 

Mr.  Bressani  took  up  the  diamond.  As  he  caressed 
the  glistening  marvel  he  asked :  "Do  other  people 
know  of  these  ruins?" 

"I  think  not," 


"AND   OVKR    KVKKY'I  Hl\(;   AN    AWKl'I.  SII.KNC'K"       P.ifr  214 


A   WORLD   OK   DUST  AM)  ASHKb"  —  P.tfe  21 


"Incredible!"  215 

"You  have  never  heard  of  any  one  els^  who  has 
been  there?" 

"Never." 

"Is  the  district  difficult  to  reach?" 

"Very — almost  impossible.  In  fact  the  trip  is  so 
long  and  risky  that  you  need  have  no  fear  of  other 
explorers.  I  tell  you  this  merely  that  you  may  know 
the  chances  are  small  of  the  market  being  flooded  with 
diamonds — at  least  from  that  quarter.  Nobody  else 
will  try  it.  You  may  be  sure  of  that.  The  diamonds 
are  there,  however,  and  plenty  of  them." 

"Plenty  of  them !" 

"Plenty — by  the  cart-load." 

William  whistled.  And  the  two  older  men  whistled 
—in  spirit — and  raised  their  eyebrows.  With  the 
Bressani  eyebrows  still  in  the  air  their  owner  inquired  : 
"You  say  this  was  lying  on  the  top  of  the  ground?" 

"Yes ;  among  other  fragments." 

"Fragments  of  wrhat?" 

For  a  moment  the  visitor  closed  his  eyes.  "That  is 
hard  to  answer.  I  was  there  at  dusk.  The  light  was 
peculiar,  and  uncertain — and  changing.  I  should  say 
there  were  fragments  of  cups  and  vases,  of  carved 
capitals,  scraps  of  metal  that  might  be  architectural 
ornaments,  all  mingled  with  blocks  of  some  white 
material,  perhaps  marble,  or  alabaster.  And  all  finely 
carved." 

"These  things  were  scattered  about  the  ground?" 

"Scattered  about,  but  not  literally  on  the  ground. 
Many  were  lying  on  a  pavement  of  different  colored 


216  Drowsy 

stones —  he  floor  of  a  building  I  should  say.  The 
outer  walls  and  several  columns  were  still  standing." 

"It  might  have  been  a  palace,  a  temple,  a  forum, — 
almost  anything  of  size  and  importance." 

"You  know  nothing  of  the  history  of  those  people, 
of  their  manners  and  customs?" 

"Nothing,  whatever." 

"Where  could  I  find  out?  That  is,  of  course,  if  we 
had  your  permission." 

"Nowhere.  Nobody  knows.  It  is  all  forgotten — 
long  ago  forgotten — with  no  records,  no  memories — 
not  even  a  tradition." 

There  was  a  silence.  Cyrus  knew  that  his  hearers 
were  having  more  or  less  difficulty  in  digesting  his 
statements.  However,  he  smiled  pleasantly,  as  he 
said :  "My  sympathies  are  with  you,  gentlemen,  and 
my  thanks  for  your  courteous  reception  of  my  absurd 
story.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  do  know  about  these 
people.  Although  their  buildings  were  often  as  high 
as  ours,  I  know  their  legs  were  shorter.  All  their 
stone  steps,  in  every  case,  had  risers  about  half  the  size 
of  ours." 

"Ah!     Then  they  were  a  race  of  pigmies." 

"I  should  think  so,  and  with  long  arms  and  very 
short  legs.  They  were  evidently  strong  on  sculpture, 
as  there  are  fragments  of  statues,  heads,  bas  reliefs, 
monuments,  etc.,  all  scattered  about.  And  the  people 
represented  are  very  much  like  ourselves,  in  some 
ways." 


"THK    DIAMONDS  ARK.  THKRK.    AND    PI.KN  1  Y   OKTMI'M"       T.iff  JI 


"WITH    I.OXC;   ARMS  AM)   VKRV  SHORT  I.KGS"   -P.,gr  21t> 


"Incredible!"  217 

"You  say  you  were  there  at  dusk.  Why  didn't  you 
see  it  by  day  light?" 

"Well,  the — er — climate  is  peculiar.  The  air,  if 
you  can  call  it  air,  is  so  very  rarefied  as  to  be  no  pro 
tection  whatever  against  the  heat  of  the  sun.  And  the 
surface  of  the  ground,  by  daylight,  would  burn  your 
feet.  And  by  night,  there  being  no  atmosphere  twixt 
you  and  space,  the  temperature  is  about  300  degrees 
below  zero." 

"Three  hundred  degrees !" 

Cyrus  smiled  and  nodded.  "That's  what  the  scien 
tists  say.  I  had  no  thermometer  with  me." 

"But  no  human  being  could  live  in  such  a  tem 
perature  !" 

"That  is  why  I  stuck  to  the  twilight.  And  I  suspect 
that  is  why  the  cities  were  built  in  the  canons." 

"Why,  of  course!  That  explains  it.  I  was  won 
dering  what  on  earth  could  induce  anybody  to  want 
to  live  in  those  God-forsaken  chasms." 

Mr.  Bressani,  however,  had  a  deeper  interest  in 
abnormal  gems  than  in  climatic  conditions.  "Did  you 
find  this  piece  all  alone,  by  itself, — apart  from  others?" 

"No;  other  pieces  were  near  it." 

"But  not  so  large  as  this." 

"Oh,  yes!     Some  were  much  larger." 

Mr.  Bressani  frowned.     "Larger  than  this?" 

"Yes,  much  larger." 

"But  not  diamonds — not  this  same  material?" 

"I  suppose  they  were.     They  looked  just  like  it." 


218  Drowsy 

"Then  why  didn't  you  bring  a  larger  piece?  It 
would  be  a  fabulous  fortune,  in  itself." 

Cyrus  seemed  uncertain  as  to  his  answer.  "Well- 
there  were — many  reasons.  One  was  that  I  did  not 
know  they  were  diamonds.  Another  was  that  I  needed 
both  hands  for  other  purposes  and  could  not  carry — 
just  at  that  moment — anything  too  large  to  go  in  my 
pocket.  In  fact  I  tried  to  pick  up  a  beautifully  carved 
fragment  nearly  the  size  of  a  foot-ball,  but  I  had  to 
drop  it  for  this  smaller  one." 

The  three  jewelers  regarded  him  with  eager  faces, 
as  children  listen  to  a  fairy  tale.  Mr.  Bressani  in  a 
low,  somewhat  awe  stricken  tone,  said : 

"And  there  is  really  much  of  it?" 

"Lots  of  it." 

"But,  of  course,  you  are  not  absolutely  sure  it  is 
the  same  material?" 

"Well — I  saw  the  other  part  of  the  one  in  your  hand 
lying  beside  it,  and  it  was  four  or  five  times  the  size 
of  this  one." 

The  three  men  turned  to  each  other,  as  if  to  dis 
cover  the  effect,  on  other  human  beings,  of  such  a 
statement. 

The  Senior  Partner  leaned  forward,  each  hand 
grasping  an  arm  of  his  chair.  The  Bressani  eye 
brows  shot  aloft,  and  he  came  a  step  nearer.  Nephew 
William  adjusted  his  lips  for  a  whistle,  but  changed 
his  mind.  No  sound  came  forth. 

It  was  the  Senior  Partner  who  was  the  first  to  find 
himself,  and  return  to  business.  Leaning  back  in  his 


"Incredible!"  219 

chair  he  cleared  his  throat.  "Mr.  Alton,  if  you  were 
not  an  old  friend  of  William's,  and  if  I  knew  nothing 
about  you,  I  should  say  that  Munchausen,  by  compari 
son,  was  a  clumsy  beginner.  But  your  own  reputa 
tion  and  that  stone  in  Mr.  Bressani's  hand,  are  proofs 
to  the  contrary — the  best  of  proofs.  Now  let  us  get 
to  business.  Is  it  your  wish  to  sell  this  diamond  to 
us?" 

"Yes,  sir.  That's  why  I  came  here.  And  I  would 
prefer  dealing  with  your  house,  if  you  care  to  bother 
with  it." 

The  Senior  Partner  smiled.  "It  would  be  an  un 
enterprising  jeweler  who  declined  to  bother  with  what 
will  soon  become  the  most  famous  diamond  of  history 
— ancient  or  modern.  If  agreeable  to  you,  Mr.  Alton, 
you  can  leave  the  stone  with  us,  and  we  will  give  you, 
now,  a  receipt  for  an  uncut  diamond  of  seventy-one 
hundred  carats,  value  unknown.  A  few  days  hence, 
at  your  convenience,  we  will  submit  for  your  con 
sideration  a  plan  by  which  you  shall  receive  a  certain 
amount  at  once  in  cash,  the  balance  to  be  governed  by 
the  final  value  of  the  stones  as  they  are  cut  or  sold. 
Would  that  be  satisfactory  to  you?" 

"Perfectly." 

"And  perhaps  you  will  agree  to  give  us  the  prefer- 
ance  if  you  decide  later  to  flood  the  market  with 
diamonds  the  size  of  paving  stones." 

Cyrus  smiled.     "Yes,  sir,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so." 

A  few  moments  later,  the  receipt  in  his  pocket, 
Cyrus  left  the  private  office,  escorted  by  William.  At 


22O  Drowsy 

the  street  door,  as  the  young  jeweler,  at  parting,  shook 
hands  with  his  friend,  he  said :  "And,  by  the  way, 
old  man,  when  you  can  divulge  the  awful  secret  of 
where  you  found  it  don't  waste  a  second  in  telling  us.'' 

"If  there  is  a  humorous  side  to  this  morning's  inter 
view,  Billy,  it  is  in  the  name  of  that  very  place." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  I  mentioned  the  name,  and  more  than 
once." 

"Stuff!" 

"On  my  honor." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Oh,  that's  too  easy!     Good-by." 

And  he  left  William  standing  in  the  doorway,— 
still  guessing. 

Alone  together,  the  unparalleled,  incredible  wonder 
on  the  desk  before  them,  the  Senior  Partner  and  Mr. 
Bressani  remained  silent  for  a  time,  as  if  recovering 
from  a  dream.  For  the  twentieth  time  that  morning, 
Mr.  Bressani  murmured:  "It  seems  impossible!" 
Then,  after  another  silence :  "But  where  did  he  get 
it?  Has  he  been  to  the  very  center  of  the  earth?" 

"Or,"  said  the  Senior  Partner,  with  a  shrug,  "to 
the  mountains  of  the  moon." 


XIII 

A   MESSAGE 

TO  be  lifted,  suddenly,  from  poverty  to  wealth, 
is  delightful.  Especially  delightful  when  pre 
ceded  by  a  preliminary  course  of  self-denial. 
For  Cyrus  and  his  father  there  \vas  now  an  end,  at 
last,  to  the  orthodox  but  discordant  partnership  be 
tween  Pride  and  Want. 

Vaulting  ambition  has  its  uses.  So  have  rags  and 
hunger.  And  there  are  times,  as  in  the  case  of  Cyrus, 
when  they  pull  together.  But  now  had  come  the 
harvest.  And  the  prosperity  was  real :  the  checks 
from  the  Senior  Partner  were  not  a  dream. 

"Xc>  more  cheap  food  and  shiny  clothes  for  us," 
said  Cyrus  to  his  father.  "Me  for  gluttony;  canvas 
backs  three  times  a  day;  Burgundy  and  dollar  cigars. 
And  brand  new  raiment  every  morning!" 

Dr.  Alton  nodded.     "Yes,  that's  a  good  program. 


221 


222  Drowsy 

A  change,  even  from  bad  to  worse,  is  often  beneficial. 
Had  you  been  brought  up  on  canvas  backs  and  Bur 
gundy,  you  might  have  yearned  for  water  and  dried 
apples." 

One  of  the  first  things  Cyrus  did  was  to  visit  Mrs. 
Eagan.  The  great  desire  of  her  life  had  been  to  revisit 
Ireland,  but  she  never  could  save  enough  money.  She 
had  tried  in  vain  to  sell  her  little  cottage  with  its  two 
acres  of  land.  Now  came  a  purchaser.  For  the  acre 
farthest  from  the  house,  for  which  there  never  had 
been  a  bid,  Cyrus  paid  her  three  thousand  dollars. 
And  the  happy  Mrs.  Eagan  went  to  Ireland.  He  did 
other  things,  equally  unbusinesslike.  Some  for  his  old 
friends;  some  for  the  town  itself. 

As  for  the  Great  Discovery  both  Cyrus  and  his 
father  \vere  of  one  opinion — that  it  never  must  be 
made  public:  that  the  secret  must  die.  One  of  many 
reasons  was,  that  with  such  a  power  in  irresponsible 
hands  no  man's  property,  and  no  man  himself,  would 
be  secure.  What  safety  for  a  law  abiding  citizen 
when  any  criminal  could  purchase  for  a  few  dollars 
and  carry  in  his  hand,  or  pocket,  a  weapon  of  un 
limited  energy  and  force?  The  burglar  or  the  high 
wayman  could  either  escape  at  will  or  send  his  victim 
into  farthest  space. 

He  had  various  kinds  of  fun  with  his  money.  But 
he  was  no  fool  with  it.  lie  had  been  too  intimate  with 
debt,  half-rations  and  shabby  raiment  to  renew,  volun 
tarily,  the  old  acquaintance.  But  the  greatest  satis 
faction  of  all  was  the  prospect  of  bringing  a  long 


A  Message  223 

deferred  pleasure  to  his  father.  Dr.  Alton  had  spoken 
in  years  gone  by  of  a  trip  to  Europe.  And  now  he 
could  have  it.  Moreover,  this  trip  abroad,  according 
to  Cyrus,  was  to  be  such  a  new  departure  in  activity 
and  leisure,  in  wisdom  and  extravagance,  as  to  startle 
Europe. 

"We'll  make  Croesus  look  like  thirty  cents — and 
Lucullus  a  skinflint." 

But  Fate,  brainless  Fate,  whose  rewards  and  punish 
ments  seem  random  shots,  stepped  in  between.  And 
the  blow  that  came  to  Cyrus  was  the  hardest  in  his 
life. 

To  the  people  of  Longfields  there  was  mystery  in 
certain  periods  of  Dr.  Alton's  past.  Those  seven 
years  abroad  were  secret  history.  The  little  son  and 
his  unknown  mother  had  invited  explanation.  But 
explanations  were  not  offered.  Moreover,  it  was  soon 
realized  by  his  neighbors  that  Dr.  Alton's  private 
affairs  were  his  own,  and  were  not  for  publication. 
But  people  had  surely  a  right  to  wonder  why  a  physi 
cian  with  his  exceptional  education  and  opportunities 
should  give  so  little  thought  to  distinction  in  larger 
fields  and  prefer  obscurity  in  a  forgotten  little  village. 

Miss  Anita  Clement  and  some  other  women  believed 
that  this  hamdsome  young  doctor  had  been  the  victim 
of  a  blighting  passion;  that  his  heart,  if  not  broken, 
had  received  a  wound  that  never  healed.  But  all  that 
was  speculative. 

Of  some  things,  however,  they  were  sure.  One  was 
that  his  gentle  manner,  his  never  failing  help  and  kind- 


224  Drowsy 

ness  to  poor  and  prosperous  alike,  had  resulted  in  a 
sincere  affection  for  him,  not  only  in  Longfields  itself 
but  in  the  neighboring  villages.  To  every  member 
of  the  little  community  in  which  he  lived  and  worked 
for  nearly  thirty  years  his  death  was  a  personal  loss. 

To  Cyrus,  this  sudden,  unexpected  ending  was  a 
blow  that  stunned.  Many  days  were  to  pass  before 
he  fully  realized  how  irreparable  was  his  loss.  That 
his  father's  death  should  come  when  it  did  made  sor 
row  doubly  keen.  Of  what  good  this  sudden  wealth 
when  his  best  friend,  after  these  years  of  economy  and 
self  sacrifice,  was  not  here  to  enjoy  it?  And  that  trip 
abroad  together — only  a  month  away! 

Cyrus  had  this  consolation,  however,  that  the  end 
was  free  from  suffering. 

An  hour  before  his  death — in  a  sunny  November 
afternoon — his  father  was  reclining  comfortably  in 
his  easy  chair  when  he  told  Cyrus  where  to  find  a 
package  of  letters  in  the  further  corner  of  a  certain 
drawer  in  his  desk.  Cyrus  brought  them.  Then  he 
sat  by  his  father's  side  and,  as  the  letters,  after  being 
read,  were  handed  him,  one  by  one,  he  dropped  them 
into  the  fire.  Some  were  limp  and  worn  from  many 
readings.  With  them  was  a  photograph  of  a  woman's 
face.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  Dr.  Alton  handed 
it  to  his-son. 

"That's  your  mother,  Cyrus." 

With  unspeakable  emotion  the  son  gazed  upon  this 
face.  Her  eyes  looked  straight  into  his  own.  They 
were  deep,  dark,  tragic — yet  smiling.  It  seemed  to 


A  Message  225 

Cyrus  that  he  had  always  known  this  face — and  loved 
it.  He  gazed  in  silence,  overcome  by  feelings  quite 
different  from  anything  he  had  heretofore  experienced. 
His  father's  voice  recalled  him  to  himself.  The  voice 
was  becoming  weaker. 

"Destroy  this  picture,  Cyrus.  If  you  ever  meet  her 
keep  your  knowledge  to  yourself.  Let  her  be  the  first 
— to  greet  you." 

So  low  was  his  voice  that  Cyrus  bent  forward  to 
get  his  words. 

"Remember,  always  remember,  she  is  a  good 
woman." 

Dr.  Alton  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes. 

A  faint  smile  came  to  his  lips.  He  whispered  a 
name — 

"Francesca." 

His  thoughts  wandered.  In  spirit  he  was  far 
from  Longfields.  Below  him  gleamed  the  Adriatic, 
azure  blue.  The  breath  of  spring  came  gently  to  his 
cheeks.  Before  him,  and  very  near,  is  a  woman's  face, 
radiant  with  beauty  and  with  love,  and  with  unfailing 
devotion.  Her  eyes  looking  deep  into  his  own,  search 
ing  his  innermost  thoughts.  There  are  none  to  hide, 
for  all  are  hers. 

The  smile  still  upon  his  lips  he  murmured  in  French 
—his  voice  fainter  with  each  succeeding  word — a 
message. 

And  the  last  word,  "Francesca,"  was  scarcely  a 
breath. 

Cyrus  knew  that  another  spirit  had  joined  the  count- 


226  Drowsy 

less  host :  that  into  these  final  words  a  faithful  lover 
had  breathed  his  soul. 


At  that  sunny  hour  of  the  afternoon,  in  Longfields, 
night  had  fallen  in  the  city  of  Milan.  The  great  opera 
house  was  crowded.  To  lovers  of  music  the  farewell 
appearance  of  the  Diva  was  a  memorable  occasion. 
It  was  also  cause  for  surprise,  but  physicians  had  given 
warning  of  a  certain  weakness  about  the  heart.  Be 
sides,  it  may  have  been  that  after  thirty  years  of 
triumph — though  apparently  as  young  as  ever — there 
had  come  a  surfeit  of  glory;  a  yearning  for  the  tran 
quil  life;  for  days  and  nights  of  less  effort  and  less 
excitement. 

So,  still  beautiful,  erect  as  ever,  and  looking  to  per 
fection  the  heroine,  with  the  fresh,  full  voice  of  girl 
hood  that  charmed  the  world,  she  was  singing  to-night 
before  an  audience,  or  rather,  a  host  of  friends,  that 
filled  the  great  building  from  the  floor  to  the  topmost 
seats.  Both  the  glorious  voice  and  the  Diva  herself 
seemed  unchanged.  To-night  she  was  still  the  envy  of 
other  singers.  And  to-night,  as  usual,  she  thrilled  an 
enchanted  audience. 

Near  the  end  of  the  second  act  came  a  surprise. 
Then  it  was  that  the  great  singer  seemed  conquered  by 
some  strange  emotion — some  mysterious  agency  that 
hushed  her  voice  and  enslaved  her  spirit.  And  to  that 
audience  it  always  remained  a  mystery. 

Softly,  from  the  orchestra,  rose  the  accompaniment 


3ut  the  Diva  was  far  away.      She  heard  nothing  save  the  thing 
unheard  by  others. 


A  Message  227 

to  the  aria — the  divine  aria — flooding  the  house  with 
its  melody.  The  Diva,  with  lips  parting  for  the  open 
ing  notes,  was  moving  slowly  toward  the  front  of  the 
stage.  Then,  instead  of  the  voice  for  which  the  hun 
dreds  of  eager  listeners  were  waiting,  they  saw  her 
stop,  and  stand  in  silence.  With  eyes  closed,  and  face 
upturned,  transfigured — as  angels'  faces  are  transfig 
ured — she  stood,  unconscious  of  the  world  about  her. 
Vainly  the  audience  waited.  Vainly  the  conductor 
waved  his  baton,  as  his  orchestra,  with  every  bar,  was 
leaving  the  Diva  still  further  behind. 

But  the  Diva  was  far  away.  She  heard  him  not. 
She  heard  nothing  save  the  thing  unheard  by  others. 
The  orchestra  and  its  leader,  the  opera  house  and  the 
people  in  it,  all  had  vanished — all  had  vanished  as  com 
pletely  from  her  thoughts  as  from  her  sight.  The  very 
music  itself  helped  the  spirit's  flight — to  bear  it  aloft, 
to  transport  her  far — oh  far  indeed ! — from  where  she 
stood. 

As  a  dying  zephyr  mingles  with  the  fragrance  of 
the  flowers,  so  with  the  harmony  of  the  music  came, 
from  over  seas,  a  lover's  message.  Her  name — Fran- 
cesca — interwoven  with  the  melody,  came  gently  to 
her  senses.  She  knew  from  whom.  And  she  alone 
knew  what  memories  it  revived,  crowding  upon  her 
through  the  music;  precious  memories  of  the  only 
passion  of  her  life;  of  the  one  being  to  whom  she 
had  given  her  heart,  her  self,  her  very  soul — and  for 
all  time.  Now,  once  again,  they  were  meeting.  It 
came,  the  message,  not  in  words — merely  the  breath 


228  Drowsy 

of  a  dying  lover.  It  brought  this  truth,  that  all  joy 
of  living  had  ended  at  their  parting — nearly  thirty 
years  ago.  Not  a  moment  in  those  years  had  his  devo 
tion  wavered,  a  devotion  greater  and  more  real  than 
all  else  in  life,  beyond  and  far  above  the  reach  of 
death.  Now,  on  the  borders  of  that  other  world  where 
loyal  hearts  shall  know  no  parting — there  she  would 
find  him  waiting.  Again  her  name — Francesca — fad 
ing  away  into  the  melody  of  the  aria. 

The  Diva  lowered  her  face,  pressed  a  hand  against 
her  temples  and  swayed  as  if  to  fall.  But  her  recov 
ery  was  sudden.  She  smiled  toward  the  sea  of  anxious 
faces  and  nodded  to  the  conductor,  who  started  his 
orchestra  afresh.  Then  she  sang  the  aria  as  never 
before. 


XIV 

OVER    SEAS 

THERE  was  music  in  Cyrus.  As  a  boy,  how 
ever,  he  could  never  get  it  out.  With  no  voice 
for  singing  his  main  relief  was  in  whistling  and 
humming  and  in  drumming  with  his  fingers.  Which, 
of  course,  made  him  more  or  less  of  a  nuisance  at 
times.  When  he  grew  up  his  voice  improved.  Not 
enough  to  outshine  the  nightingales,  but  it  served  for 
domestic  purposes.  At  church,  for  instance,  he  joined 
the  congregation  in  the  hymns.  His  voice,  in  speak 
ing,  was  low,  with  a  pleasant  quality,  and  was  more 
than  satisfactory  for  ordinary  human  intercourse.  But 
as  a  musical  instrument  it  aroused  no  enthusiasm. 
His  father  had  said,  on  one  occasion :  "The  louder 
you  sing,  Cyrus,  the  less  noise  you  make." 

But  music  had  always  moved  him,  and  in  a  singular 
way;  much  as  many  others  are  affected,  perhaps,  but 

229 


230  Drowsy 

more  profoundly.  It  touched  strange  chords,  deep 
within  him.  It  inspired  him,  and  seemed  to  bring  a 
keener  edge  to  his  capacity  for  pain  or  pleasure ;  lifting 
him,  at  times,  far  away  from  himself,  to  a  world  where 
other  people  are  not  too  real ;  where  beauty  and  virtue, 
power,  glory  and  justice  are  at  one's  own  command. 
Music  brought  these  things  to  Cyrus — also  other 
things  for  which  a  young  man's  soul  is  thirsting. 

One  evening  in  May  there  was  a  service  in  the 
church  in  which  the  congregation — Cyrus  included — 
had  joined  in  the  singing.  After  the  service  he  walked 
home  alone.  As  he  entered  his  own  grounds  the  music 
of  the  last  hymn  echoed  in  his  brain.  Still  humming 
it,  he  stopped  and  looked  up  at  the  stars.  The  solemn 
stillness  of  the  night  brought  memories  of  his  father. 
And  as  he  stood  there,  gazing  at  the  stars,  he  felt 
in  the  night  air  itself  an  unfamiliar  element;  some 
thing  that  awakened  within  him  emotions  unrelated  to 
his  outward  senses.  There  was  no  moon,  but  from 
countless  stars  came  flickering  beams — faint  greetings 
from  other  worlds.  He  seemed  alone  in  the  Great 
Silence — alone  in  the  universe  itself ;  in  closer  com 
munion  with  hidden  things.  From  out  the  darkness, 
mingling  with  the  silence,  yet  almost  silence  itself, 
there  came  to  him  a  breath — a  murmur.  It  was  not 
the  evening  breeze  among  the  branches  of  the  maples. 
It  was  the  gentlest  music,  but  not  the  echoes  in  his 
brain  of  the  evening  hymn.  No — it  came  from  far 
away.  It  seemed  personal — directed  to  himself.  For 
a  time  he  stood  without  moving,  every  faculty  alert. 


Over  Seas  231 

Not  with  his  ears  did  he  listen,  but  with  a  deeper  sense, 
as  of  one  spirit  striving  for  communion  with  another. 
At  last  the  music,  the  voice,  the  indefinable  melody 
died  away,  gently,  into  the  silence  of  the  night. 

Patiently  he  waited.  Then,  after  a  time,  when 
nothing  came,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  lowered  his 
face.  In  the  continued  silence  about  him  he  began  to 
suspect  that  his  own  brain  might  have  been  deceiving 
him ;  that  the  message  was  from  his  own  imagination. 
And  was  it  a  message?  It  had  told  him  nothing.  So 
far  as  he  could  divine  it  was  a  call — a  prayer,  but 
clearly  to  himself.  Still  wondering,  he  entered  the 
house,  did  his  customary  little  chores,  then  went  up 
stairs  to  bed. 

For  a  time  he  lay  awake,  thinking,  but  once  asleep 
his  sleep  was  sound.  From  this  sleep,  however,  he 
was  awakened  by  what  seemed  a  whispered  voice 
within  the  room.  He  sat  up  in  his  bed,  and  spoke . 

"Who  is  it?" 

Then  came — as  before,  when  he  was  standing  be 
neath  the  stars — the  almost  inaudible,  far-away  echo 
of  a  song.  He  listened,  with  every  sense  alert.  And, 
as  before,  it  seemed  addressed  distinctly  to  himself — 
an  appeal  to  come.  But  where?  So  real  was  the  en 
treaty  that  he  obeyed  an  impulse,  arose  from  his  bed 
and  prepared  to  dress.  As  he  stood  at  his  eastern 
window  a  few  moments  later,  he  heard  again — or 
thought  he  heard — the  alluring  voice. 

A  faint,  cool  light  at  the  horizon  was  creeping 
slowly  upward,  along  the  edges  of  the  earth. 


232  Drowsy 

Yes,  it  came  from  off  there.  And  he  would  follow 
it.  Why  not?  His  father  was  gone.  What  held  him 
in  Longfields — or  anywhere  else?  Moreover,  he  had 
power  to  travel  as  was  not  given  to  other  men.  Be 
sides,  it  pleased  him  to  believe  in  this  need  for  himself, 
this  call  to  danger,  death  or  sacrifice — or  whatever 
it  might  be.  To  him  it  had  become  a  prayer  from  one 
soul  to  another.  And  he  felt  that  he  and  the  other 
soul  were  not  strangers. 

So,  an  hour  later,  Cyrus  in  his  machine  rose  high 
above  the  earth  and  steered  his  course  toward  the 
spreading  light  in  the  East.  Now  it  was  a  warmer  tint, 
and  growing  rosier  as  it  spread. 

Guided  only  by  the  rising  sun  and  by  some  subtle 
sense  which  he  did  not  pretend  to  define,  he  sailed — or 
darted — over  the  waste  of  water  between  Cape  Cod 
and  Portugal.  Far  below  him,  on  this  deep  blue  ocean, 
specks  \vere  moving.  Some  were  white;  others  darker, 
shedding  smoke.  But  all  moved  so  slowly,  compared 
with  himself,  that  they  seemed  at  anchor.  For,  with 
him,  any  speed  was  possible  and  unfailing. 

This  was  his  first  trip  by  daylight  across  the 
Atlantic.  When  out  of  sight  of  land,  with  the  level, 
dark  blue  line  of  the  horizon  on  every  side,  he  began 
to  have  the  same  sensation  as  when  flying  through 
space;  a  sensation  of  aimless  wandering.  Also,  there 
being  no  land  marks,  nothing  by  which  to  measure 
progress,  he  found  his  only  way  of  gauging  speed  was 
by  the  amount  of  electric  power  he  applied  to  his 
machine.  He  had,  of  course,  the  sun  to  go  by :  and 


Over  Seas  233 

he  knew  the  difference  in  time  between  Boston  and 
Lisbon  was  about  four  hours.  Six  hours  he  had  al 
lowed  for  reaching  Europe  but  he  was  startled  by  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  morning  sun  was  sliding  west 
ward  across  the  heavens.  It  helped  him  to  guess  at 
his  velocity  when  he  found  the  morning  sun  had  be 
come,  somewhat  suddenly,  an  afternoon  sun,  and  was 
well  behind  him.  Across  the  ocean  he  shot  his 
machine,  more  like  a  cannon  ball  than  a  passenger 
craft.  Over  the  first  piece  of  land — which  must  be 
Spain — he  hovered  a  few  minutes  for  a  hasty  lunch; 
also  for  a  supply  of  fresh  air.  His  oxygen  cylinder 
was  so  large  and  with  such  enormous  pressure  to  the 
square  foot  that  with  the  attendant  apparatus  for  sup 
plying  breathable  air  it  could  keep  him  alive  for  several 
days.  But  now  he  took  good  long  breaths  of  the  outer 
air  as  a  matter  of  both  economy  and  luxury. 

Then  along  the  Northern  end  of  the  Mediterranean, 
still  guided  by  Faith  alone  for  the  spot  whence  came 
the  summons. 

Now  Cyrus,  in  his  knowledge  of  geography,  was 
about  like  the  rest  of  us.  He  had  learned  it,  but 
details  were  not  fresh  in  his  mind.  The  two  great 
islands  off  to  his  right  he  guessed  were  Corsica  and 
Sardina.  Over  Northern  Italy  he  sped,  where  local 
showers  were  hiding,  for  a  time,  the  land  beneath. 
One  city  on  the  western  coast,  with  its  countless 
canals,  was  unmistakably  Venice.  On  he  sped  across 
the  upper  end  of  the  Adriatic — the  narrow  part.  Here, 
as  he  approached  the  eastern  shore,  guidance  forsook 


234  Drowsy 

him.  He  slowed  his  machine,  then  stopped.  Thus  far 
his  intuition,  whether  right  or  wrong,  had  led  him 
without  wavering.  Now,  and  suddenly,  all  guidance 
ceased — his  intuition  vanished.  A  sudden  need,  he  felt, 
for  knowledge  he  did  not  possess.  A  sense  of  help 
lessness  came  upon  him,  intensified,  perhaps,  by  the 
reaction  from  his  previous  confidence.  In  fear  of 
straying  from  his  course  he  decided  to  alight.  If 
fortune  favored  him  the  voice  might  come  again,  and 
he  could  start  afresh.  So  he  descended,  slowly,  toward 
the  summit  of  a  towering  hill  whose  western  sides 
were  steep  and  thickly  wooded. 

He  landed  in  a  cypress  grove,  beside  a  garden. 


XV 

A  GARDEN  OF  WONDERS 

WHEN  Cyrus  stepped  out  of  his  machine  he 
stood  for  a  moment  unsteady  on  his  legs ;  a 
usual  condition  in  a  sudden  change  of  air 
after  hours  of  bewildering  speed. 

So  far  as  he  could  judge  he  was  in  the  grounds  of 
an  institution  of  some  kind — a  monastery,  a  college, 
a  convent,  or  possibly  a  summer  palace.  Along  the 
side  of  the  garden  overlooking  the  sea,  which  lay  far 
below,  ran  a  wall.  On  this  wall  at  regular  spaces 
stood  statues  of  ecclesiastical  persons,  presumably 
Saints.  They  stood  back  to  the  sea,  facing  the  garden. 
In  the  garden  a  fountain  played.  Off  beyond  the 
garden  he  saw  long,  white  buildings,  and  a  chapel. 
But  what  most  impressed  him  was  the  beauty  of  a  line 
of  cloisters,  their  many  arches  of  white  marble,  soft- 

235 


236  Drowsy 

ened  by  age,  now  all  aglow  in  the  light  of  the  western 
sun.  But  his  wandering,  enchanted  eyes  fell  upon 
another  sight,  different  in  character,  yet  fully  as  inter 
esting.  But  in  a  different  way.  So  interesting  that  he 
forgot,  for  a  moment,  the  garden,  the  fountain,  the 
cloisters  and  the  Saints.  The  sight  that  gently  stirred 
him  was  the  figure  of  a  girl;  a  graceful  figure  that 
seemed  a  fitting  climax  to  this  garden  in  fairy  land. 
She  was  leaning  against  the  parapet,  her  face  toward 
the  sun,  now  sinking  in  the  \Yest.  She  seemed  in  deep 
est  meditation.  Her  dress,  a  light  gray,  with  white 
bands  at  the  neck  and  shoulders,  suggested  a  religious 
order.  So  he  decided  that  his  guess  at  having  landed 
in  a  convent  might  be  correct.  He  was  not  familiar 
with  convents.  The  inmates,  so  far  as  he  knew,  might 
be  a  mingling  of  religious  fanatics  and  female  crimi 
nals  partially  reformed.  He  felt  sure,  however,  up  to 
the  present  moment,  that  they  were  wide  and  square  in 
build,  plain  of  face  and  haters  of  men.  Hence  his 
surprise  at  the  alluring,  girlish  figure  now  before  him. 
Perhaps  this  one  was  in  here  by  mistake.  Or,  she 
might  be  some  lovely  victim  of  disappointed  love. 
May  be  a  human  angel  brutally  treated  by  cruel  rela 
tives.  Perhaps  a  marriageable  princess  escaping  a  dis 
tasteful  alliance.  But  these  were  merely  guesses.  She 
was  standing  not  far  away,  and  was  partly  hidden 
from  the  convent  buildings  by  the  trunks  of  the  ancient 
cypresses. 

Cyrus  approached  this  damsel.     He  saw  that  she 
was  short,  and  slight  of  figure,  distinctly  petite,  and 


A  Garden  of  Wonders         237 

so  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts  that  she  failed  to 
hear  his  footsteps  on  the  gravel  walk. 

He  coughed.  It  seemed  a  safe  if  not  original  man 
ner  of  announcing  his  presence.  The  girl  turned  and 
faced  him.  She  was  startled ;  and  a  hand  went  swiftly 
to  her  lips  as  if  to  suppress  an  exclamation.  A  short 
moment  they  stood  regarding  each  other,  a  dozen 
feet  apart,  the  light  full  in  the  face  of  the  intruder, 
while  the  girl's  was  partly  in  shadow.  For  the  descend 
ing  sun  was  almost  directly  behind  her.  So  earnestly 
she  studied  him  that  he  became  embarrassed.  Her 
own  surprise  was  so  great  that  her  lips  parted,  then 
closed  again,  as  if  her  voice  were  lost  in  astonishment. 
She  took  a  backward  step  and  laid  a  hand  on  the 
parapet  as  if  for  support.  As  for  Cyrus,  this  little 
person  was  easily  the  most  entrancing  vision  of  his 
experience.  Slight,  erect,  with  a  dainty  head  and 
glorious  eyes,  she  seemed  a  perfect  and  harmonious 
clement  with  the  radiant  splendors  in  the  West.  Such 
eyes  he  had  not  beheld  since  he  lived  beneath  the  spell 
of  the  celestial  windows  of  Ruth  Hey  wood's  soul. 
These  present  eyes,  now  opened  wide  in  wonder,  were 
trying  to  grapple  with  his  presence,  as  with  some 
visitors  from  another  planet. 

Cyrus  bowed ;  his  very  best,  most  elaborate  and 
ceremonious  inclination.  And  Cyrus's  bows  were 
works  of  art. 

Had  he  been  attired  in  court  costume,  and  swept 
the  earth  with  a  chapeau  of  ostrich  plumes  instead  of 
a  checkered  golf  cap,  he  would  have  eclipsed  the  Grand 


238  Drowsy 

Monarque  in  his  own  field.  It  was,  of  course,  the 
same  old  salutation  that  had  startled  Longfields  years 
ago. 

Then  he  advanced  a  step.  "Do  you  happen  to  speak 
English,  madam?" 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment,  then  nodded. 

Cyrus,  delighted  at  the  unexpected  answer,  took 
another  step  nearer — perhaps  two  or  three.  Joy  was 
written  in  his  face.  His  manner  became,  uncon 
sciously,  almost  familiar. 

"How  fortunate!  I  am  a  stranger  here.  Can  you 
tell  me  what  place  this  is?" 

As  he  moved  nearer  the  parapet  the  girl  had  turned 
toward  him  until  her  face  was  more  in  the  sunlight. 
In  his  own  face  admiration  was  clearly  written.  The 
girl  lowered  her  eyes.  But  she  made  no  answer. 

He  spoke  again.  "This  certainly  is  not  a  hospital, 
is  it?" 

She  moved  her  head,  gently,  in  the  negative. 

"Is  it  the  palace,  or  villa,  of  some  King,  or  Prince 
or  Duke — or  something?" 

Again  the  silent  answer  in  the  negative. 

A  chilling  thought  came  to  the  traveler.  Could  this 
be  a  deaf  and  dumb  asylum? 

Now  Cyrus  had  been  "going  on  his  nerves"  for 
some  hours  and  they  might  be  more  sensitive  than 
usual.  The  last  distressful  thought  showed  plainly  in 
his  face.  His  heart  began  to  bleed  for  this  afflicted 
angel.  And  so  pretty !  So  superlatively  charming  and 
desirable!  As  she  raised  the  wondrous  eyes  and  again 


A  Garden  of  Wonders          239 

regarded  him  his  one  ambition,  at  the  moment,  was  to 
avoid  appearing  too  imbecile  and  clownish.  And  lo, 
he  was  both!  Never  had  he  felt  so  helpless.  If  he 
knew  at  least  the  sign  language  there  might  be  hope 
for  progress.  Even  in  that  field  of  expression  all  he 
could  recall  were  the  doings  in  the  pantomimes :  to 
shut  the  eyes  and  incline  your  head  upon  your  hand 
for  sleep ;  to  wabble  your  jaw  for  terror,  and  to  lick 
your  lips  and  rub  your  stomach  with  a  rotary  motion 
when  you  wanted  food.  But  this  was  no  moment  for 
comic  things,  when  his  own  heart  and  the  very  air 
he  breathed  were  all  a  quiver  with  high  adventure, 
with  Beauty  and  Romance.  So  he  stood  before  her 
in  a  painful,  and — it  seemed  to  him — a  foolish  silence. 
He  looked  down,  then  away,  then  at  her,  and  as  his 
drowsy  eyes  rested  on  her  face  he  thought  he  detected 
an  effort  to  suppress  a  smile.  This  doubled  his  em 
barrassment.  He  tried  vainly  to  discover  in  what 
manner  his  question  was  mirth  provoking.  However, 
he  made  a  brave  effort  to  assert  himself — to  appear  as 
if  nobody  cared.  So  he  smiled,  and  straightened  up  a 
little. 

"If  you  speak  English  won't  you  please  say  some 
thing?  Just  tell  me  what  kind  of  a  place  this  is? 
Where  I  am?" 

"Non  entra  no  signori  in  questo  giardino." 
Cyrus  knew  those  words  were  Italian,  and  that  was 
all.      He    frowned    in   his    endeavor   to   guess    their 
meaning. 


240  Drowsy 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  don't  understand.  Won't  you 
please  say  that  in  English?" 

"I  said  you  were  in  a  place  where  men  are  not 
allowed." 

In  pronouncing  English  words  it  seemed  another 
voice.  And  he  had  heard  it  before!  His  drowsy  eyes 
opened  wider,  his  lips  parted,  and  for  a  moment  lie 
stared,  in  wonder,  as  if  belief  came  hard.  Was  it  the 
voice  he  had  heard  in  the  darkness — in  the  motor,  that 
night?  As  he  stood  in  dumb  surprise,  hoping  for  the 
best,  the  girl  stepped  forward  with  a  smile  and  ex 
tended  a  hand. 

"Ruth!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh,  Ruth!  Really,  is  it 
you?" 

It  was.  And  great  joy  was  in  the  meeting.  They 
told  each  other  many  things.  He  learned  that  after 
the  death  of  her  parents  she  had  found  a  refuge  here, 
in  this  convent,  through  the  influence  of  a  friend. 
And  he,  in  turn,  told  of  his  father's  sudden  death,  of 
his  own  doings,  of  the  Great  Discovery.  But  he  made 
no  mention  of  his  present  affluence.  He  could  foresee' 
her  sorrow  and  her  sympathy  for  a  man,  otherwise 
normal,  who  told  of  gathering  diamonds  on  the  moon. 

Leaning  against  the  parapet,  and  facing  the  golden 
sky  across  the  water,  they  talked,  forgetful  of  sur 
roundings.  So  engrossing  was  this  talk  of  other  days 
that  they  lived  again  in  Longfields. 

From  this  Fairy  Land  of  childhood  Ruth  was  the 
tP  return  to  earth,  "You,  must  go,  Drowsy." 


A  Garden  of  Wonders         241 

And  she  turned  an  anxious  look  toward  the  buildings 
beyond  the  garden. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!  Why,  Ruth,  this  is  the  happi 
est  moment  of  my  life — a  thousand  times  the  happiest. 
Life  has  really  begun  again!" 

''That  is  very  polite  of  you,  but " 

"Polite!  Well,  I  should  say!  Why,  Ruth,  your 
very  presence — just  to  look  at  you  and  hear  your 
voice — is  a — is  a — breath  of  heaven.  You  are  the 
loveliest  thing  I  have  ever  seen.  I  can't  express  it!" 

She  laughed.    "You  are  doing  fairly  well." 

"Of  course,  you  know  it  already,  but  truly,  with  no 
exaggeration,  as  you  stand  there  now  with  that  west 
ern  sun  for  a  side  light  you  are  the  daintiest  thing  in 
Creation.  And  the  same  spell-binding  eyes !  Well, 
I  knew  that  night  in  the  dark  that  you  were  not  a 
giantess — and  that  was  about  all." 

She  raised  a  hand  for  silence.  "That  will  do, 
Drowsy.  You  have  covered  the  ground." 

But  Cyrus  went  on.  "And  so  angelic  and  pleasantly 
superior!  Why,  you  are  a  temptation  to  any  able- 
bodied  lover  to  pick  you  up  and  run — or  fly — away 
with  you." 

She  blushed,  frowned  and  laughed,  all  at  the  same 
time.  "That  will  do !  Now  I  know  exactly  what 
I  am — and  just  how  childish  a  man  can  be.  I  believe 
you  are  lighter  headed  than  when  you  were  a  boy." 

"I  am  telling  the  truth." 

"Telling  the  truth !  Then  you  have  changed,  indeed, 
for  that  was  not  your  habit."  In  sudden  alarm  she 


242  Drowsy 

straightened  up.  "Oh,  but  you  mustn't  be  seen  here, 
Drowsy!  You  must  go — at  once!" 

"Not  now?     Not  this  very  minute?" 

"Yes,  this  very  minute.  Men  are  not  allowed  here, 
under  any  circumstances.  If  I  were  found  talking 
with  you  it  would  mean — oh,  anything!" 

"\Yhat  does  it  matter?  You  are  not  going  to  stay 
here." 

"Stay  here?    Of  course  I  am!" 

"But  not  long?" 

"So  long  as  I  live." 

"You  don't  mean  that!" 

"Why  not?  I  expect  to  live  and  die  here.  We  are 
all  very  happy  and  very  thankful." 

"You  don't  mean  that  you  are  not  coming  back  to — 
to  Longfields — to  me?  You  don't  really  mean  what 
you  say?  That  you  are  going  to  stay  here  forever?'' 

"Certainly.     Of  course.     Why  not?" 

"Then  you  have  changed  your  mind  since  this  morn 
ing — since  yesterday." 

She  looked  up  into  Cyrus's  face,  puzzled,  and  dis 
turbed.  "Changed  my  mind?  What  do  you  mean? 
I  really  don't  understand." 

"Are  you  pretending  that  you  don't  know  why  I 
am  here?" 

"Pretending!" 

"Any  other  word  that  you  prefer.     Only  tell  me." 

"Tell  you  what?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  know  why  I 
am  here?" 


A  Garden  of  Wonders          243 

"You  came  to  see  me,  I  suppose." 

"And  you  had  no  idea  I  was  coming?" 

"Not  the  slightest.  How  could  I?  I  never  was 
more  surprised.  But  it's  a  most  welcome  surprise." 

Cyrus  closed  his  eyes  and  drew  a  long  breath  as 
one  who  makes  an  effort  at  self  control.  "I  ask  just 
one  thing,  Ruth.  Be  honest  with  me." 

"Be  honest!  Why,  Cyrus,  what  do  you  mean? 
Indeed  I  can  only  guess  at  what's  in  your  mind.  You 
look  as  if  you  were  angry.  You  have  no  right  to  be. 
Aren't  you  assuming " 

"Oh,  don't!  Don't  do  that!  At  least  be  frank. 
Why  did  you  call  me  across  the  water?  Just  for  the 
pleasure  of  doing  this?" 

vCall  you?    Across  the  water?" 

There  was  touch  of  contempt  in  Cyrus's  manner  as 
he  replied:  "You  don't  even  know  what  I  mean?" 

"On  my  honor  I  do  not !" 

"And  you  accuse  me  of  not  being  truthful!" 

"Drowsy,  listen.  This  may  be  our  last  meeting. 
Let  us  not  part  in  this  spirit — through  any  misunder 
standing.  Our  friendship  is  too  precious  for  that, 
isn't  it?  I  beg  you,  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  my 
calling  you.  When?  How?  Do  you  mean  a  letter ?" 

"I  mean  the  message  I  received  last  night,  and 
again  early  this  morning.  Through  the  air — by  wire 
less  as  it  were — in  the  old  way,  years  ago,  that  I  often 
got  your  messages." 

"But  I  have  sent  you  no  message." 


244  Drowsy 

"Didn't  you  even  think  of  me  yesterday  or  this 
morning?" 

"No,  I  did  not.  I  have  thought  of  you  often,  and 
of  our  old  childhood  attachment,  hut  not  yesterday 
nor  this  morning,  nor  for  several  days." 

"Perhaps  you  remember,"  said  Cyrus,  speaking 
slowly,  the  slumbrous  eyes  looking  earnestly  down  into 
Ruth's,  "I  used  to  get  messages  from  you  when  we 
were  far  apart,  even  from  your  house  to  mine." 

"Indeed  I  do !  And  it  was  most  mysterious — almost 
uncanny." 

"And  they  never  deceived  us?" 

"No,  never; — as  I  remember  them." 

"Well,  it  was  the  same  sort  of  message  I  received 
last  night.  It  came  to  me  twice,  and  the  meaning  of 
the  message  was  as  clear  as  any  spoken  word.  And 
to  this  spot  it  guided  me." 

He  turned  and  looked  about  the  grounds,  beyond 
the  trees  and  garden,  toward  the  cloisters  and  the 
chapel.  "Who  but  you  could  call  me  here?" 

Ruth,  also,  looked  toward  the  convent  buildings. 
"Is  it  not  possible  your  own  brain  may  have  played 
you  a  trick?  Such  things  happen,  you  know." 

"My  brain  has  not  played  such  tricks.  So  far  it  has 
never  deceived  me.  To  be  honest  I  was  not  thinking 
of  you  at  the  time.  Father's  death  had  been  almost 
my  only  thought  for  weeks." 

"What  more  can  I  say,  Drowsy?  I  am  telling  you 
the  truth.  And  after  all  why  should  I  call  you?  If 


A  Garden  of  Wonders          245 

you  are  the  faithful  soul  you  pretend  to  be,  why  didn't 
you  write  me  months  ago?" 

"How  could  I?  I  never  had  your  address.  And 
you  promised — or  almost  promised — to  let  me  have  it. 
I  waited,  and  waited,  hoping  for  it — wondering  in 
what  way  it  was  to  come." 

She  frowned :  then,  with  a  solemn  movement  of  the 
head : 

"You  did  have  it." 

"I  did  have  it!    How  on  earth  could  I  get  it?" 

"From  Gertrude  Page.  I  told  her  to  mention  a 
letter  from  me.  Then,  if  you  asked  for  my  address, 
she  would  give  it  to  you.  But  you  didn't  ask." 

Vehemently  he  protested.  "On  my  honor,  Ruth, 
this  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it.  She  never  spoke 
of  any  letter.  And  why  should  she,  poor  thing  I 
For  nearly  a  year  she  has  been  in  the  asylum  at 
Worcester." 

"You  mean  her — her  mind  is  affected?" 

"Yes; — sort  of  a  nervous  breakdown.  And  her 
memory  gone." 

"Oh,  how  dreadful!" 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Ruth  found  the  drowsy 
eyes  looking  deep  into  her  own,  as  if  reading  her 
innermost  thoughts.  She  recalled  the  singular  power 
he  had  exercised  as  a  boy — of  seeing  into  other  peo 
ple's  minds,  apparently  without  effort,  and  answering 
questions  before  they  were  asked.  At  this  present 
moment  she  had  reasons  for  keeping  her  own  thoughts 
to  herself.  She  avoided  his  gaze,  and  looked  away, 


246  Drowsy 

over  the  water,  toward  the  west.  Too  late,  it  seemed, 
for  he  said,  quietly  : 

"It  would  have  been  fairer  to  me  if  you  had  sent 
it." 

"Sent  what?" 

"The  second  letter,  the  one  you  wrote  to  somebody 
else." 

Ruth's  little  figure  stiffened.  Color  flew  to  her 
cheeks,  and  there  were  signs  of  anger  as  she  faced 
him. 

"How  do  you  know  I  wrote  a  second  letter?" 

Taken  aback  by  this  sudden  change  of  manner,  he 

hesitated,  then  he  smiled,  but  with  an  obvious  effort. 

And  the  smile  was  not  of  mirth.     It  was  a  smile  of 

the  joyless  type,  often  employed  to  carry  favor.   "Why 

—I — er — I  don't  know  exactly." 

"Yes  you  do  know.  You  pryed  into  my  thoughts. 
It's  your  old  trick.  And  a  hateful  habit." 

"I  am  sorry,  Ruth.     I  know  it's  a  hateful  habit." 

"Then  why  do  you  do  it?" 

"I  don't  do  it.  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it  then.  It's 
not  a  habit  any  more.  Years  ago  I  gave  it  up.  But 
now,  I  was  so  anxious,  so  very  anxious  to  know  your 
real  thoughts — to  know  if  you  really  had  no  love  for 
me  at  all — that  I  couldn't  resist.  I  swear  I  will  not 
do  it  again.  Truly  I  almost  never  do  it.  But  now, 
at  the  critical  moment  of  my  life,  when  it's  a  matter 
of  life  or  death,  the  temptation  was  too  great." 

"It's  an  exasperating,  dishonorable  trick,  and  I 
don't  like  it." 


A  Garden  of  Wonders         247 

"I  am  sorry,  Ruth.     Please  forgive  me." 

"And  you  are  very  much  mistaken  if  you  think  any 
woman  with  a  particle  of  pride  is  going  to  marry  a 
man  who  can  spy  into  her  secret  thoughts — and  merely 
by  staring  at  her." 

Her  eyes  still  avoided  him.  She  looked  over  the 
garden,  toward  the  cloisters,  anywhere  except  at  his 
face.  When  she  spoke  again,  however,  there  was  more 
sympathy  in  her  voice.  "But  that  doesn't  matter.  It 
has  always  been  my  intention  to  remain  here." 

"You  don't  really  mean  it?" 

"Indeed  I  do!  It  is  no  sudden  decision.  I  am  very 
happy  here." 

He  turned  partly  away,  and  said  nothing.  She 
glanced  at  his  face,  and  its  expression  would  have 
softened  the  Rock  of  Ages.  There  was  no  doubt  of 
his  sincerity;  nor  of  his  silent  agony  beneath  the  blow 
he  had  just  received.  No  words  were  uttered.  He 
simply  stood  and  gazed — at  nothing. 

Across  the  garden,  from  the  open  windows  of  the 
central  building,  came  the  sound  of  a  harp.  It  came 
faintly,  a  gentle,  plaintive  melody,  all  in  harmony 
with  the  murmur  of  the  fountain,  the  fading  glories 
in  the  west — and  an  aching  heart.  The  voice  of  the 
harp  may  have  had  its  effect  on  Ruth.  As  she  looked 
up  at  the  face  of  Cyrus,  with  its  misery,  she  began 
to  feel  the  old-time  sympathy  of  their  childhood;  the 
long  forgotten  sense  of  responsibility  for  his  welfare 
when  she  was  mother  and  sister  to  him,  with  the 
woman's  Inve  he  had  missed  as  a  boy;  also  his  chosen 


248  Drowsy 

pal ; — his  adored  and  trusted  playmate.  She  felt  again 
the  yearning  to  keep  him  out  of  trouble.  His  distress 
brought  an  almost  equal  suffering  to  herself.  But 
when  he  turned  his  eyes  again  to  her  face  she  was — 
— apparently — still  studying  the  cloisters. 

"Is  this  really  the  end?"  He  spoke  in  a  lower, 
unsteady  voice.  "Do  you  really  mean  that  our  boy 
and  girl  days,  our  old  affection,  all  those  memories — 
and  you  don't  know  how  much  they  have  meant  to 
me — always,  always — through  everything — you  don't 
really  mean — all  that  is — is  just — nothing?  That  I 
am  no  more  to  you  than  anybody  else?" 

The  heart  in  Ruth's  little  body  beat  so  loud — it 
seemed  to  her — that  a  man  could  hear  it.  She  tried 
hard  to  blink  away  the  moisture  in  her  eyes  as  they 
rested  on  various  objects,  but  not  on  the  face  of  Cyrus. 
"You  will  get  over  it,  Drowsy.  I  feel  it,  in  another 
way,  as  much  as  you  do.  Please  don't  talk  about  it. 
And  you  really  must  go.  A  man's  presence  here — 
and  alone  with  me — would  be  very  hard  to  explain. 
Please  go — for  my  sake!" 

Cyrus  closed  his  eyes  and  drew  a  hand,  slowly, 
across  his  forehead.  Then,  instead  of  the  protest 
she  expected,  he  straightened  up  in  a  sudden  agita 
tion,  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  pointed  toward 
the  convent  buildings. 

The  voice  of  a  woman,  singing,  came  floating  across 
the  silent  garden. 

"What  is  that?"  he  whispered. 

Also  in  a  lower  tone   Ruth  answered :     "That  is 


A  Garden  of  Wonders         249 

Sister  Francesca,  singing.     She  has  a  heavenly  voice." 

"What  is  she  singing?" 

"An  old  Hungarian  song.  A  mother's  prayer  for 
her  child.  She  often  sings  it.  And  nothing  could  be 
more  beautiful." 

"Sister  Francesca!"  he  exclaimed,  but  in  a  solemn 
whisper.  He  remembered  his  father's  dying  words. 

"A  famous  singer,"  Ruth  explained.  "All  the 
world  has  heard  of  her.  She  was  never  a  mother  but 
she  sings  this  song  with  all  the  feeling  and  the — 

He  did  not  hear  the  end  of  the  sentence.  He  had 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  song,  across  the  garden. 

"Stop!  Stop!  Cyrus,  stop.  You  don't  know  what 
you  are  doing!" 

But  he  paid  no  attention.  Again  she  called.  She 
entreated,  then  commanded.  Still  he  paid  no  attention. 
And  he  walked  so  fast  that  she  stopped  and  stood 
still  in  helpless  terror.  She  could  only  guess  at  what 
this  humiliating  misadventure  might  signify  to  the 
other  sisters.  On  second  thought  she  followed,  but 
with  the  courage  of  despair.  The  catastrophe  was  at 
hand,  and  she  would  face  it.  As  for  Cyrus,  he  heard 
her  not.  He  heard  only  the  song.  He  heard  only  the 
woman  singing — the  voice  and  the  song  that  had  come 
to  him  beneath  the  stars,  at  Longfields! 

At  last  he  stopped.  And  when  he  stopped  he  was 
standing  upon  a  stone  terrace,  where  high  arched  win 
dows  reached  the  floor,  their  heavy  casements  now 
wide  open. 

There  he  stood,  and  listened. 


250  Drowsy 

Although  a  lover  of  music,  and  keenly  sensitive  to 
its  charm,  this  prayer  affected  him  beyond  any  other 
song.  Its  pathos,  with  the  divine  voice  that  had 
thrilled  the  world,  reached  deeper  than  his  emotions. 
Into  his  very  soul  it  sank.  It  seemed  to  open  the  doors 
of  memory — the  memory  of  things  long  forgotten ; 
things  almost  of  another  life. 

Under  a  spell  he  listened,  and  the  spell  was  inten 
sified  by  the  scene  about  him, — an  enchanted  garden 
high  above  the  world.  Against  the  gold  and  crim 
son  in  the  West  stood  the  statues  at  the  garden's  edge, 
their  purple  shadows  reaching  almost  to  the  terrace. 
With  the  warm,  soft  light  that  enveloped  all  things 
came  a  peace  and  a  beauty  that  were  more  of  paradise 
than  of  earth.  And,  as  if  to  complete  the  illusion  of 
the  upper  realms,  the  voice  of  the  singer  seemed  to 
lift  him  yet  further  from  the  world  of  common  things. 
Between  this  voice  and  his  spiritual  self  came  a  new 
born  harmony.  It  came  to  him  as  a  message  between 
two  hearts,  wafted  across  a  gulf  of  years.  The  mes 
sage  it  brought  was  intimate,  for  him  alone.  To  the 
voice  itself,  a  tendril  of  love,  all  the  chords  of  his  own 
heart  were  vibrating.  Some  mysterious  power  re 
awakened  elusive  but  imperishable  bonds  betweeen  it 
self  and  him. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  shut  out  the  world  about  him, 
and  his  soul  and  the  soul  of  the  singer  were  one. 


XVI 

THE  SOUL  OF  A   SONG 

WITHIN,  at  one  side  of  the  room,  a  group  of 
forty  sisters,  more  or  less,  sat  listening  to 
the  song.  The  room  was  spacious.  Against 
its  white  walls  hung  various  paintings  by  old  masters. 
The  further  wall,  facing  the  western  windows,  was 
partly  covered  by  an  enormous  tapestry  representing 
Esther  and  her  handmaidens  before  King  Ahasuerus. 
The  king  was  on  a  throne,  amid  the  splendors  of  his 
court.  Now,  at  this  hour,  its  colors  were  all  aglow 
at  the  touch  of  the  sinking  sun.  Between  the  three 
long  windows  stood  growing  plants  in  massive  pots  of 
Siena  marble. 

Across  the  room,  facing  the  sisters,  stood  Madame 
Erancesca ;  and,  not  far  away,  the  accompanist  with 
her  harp. 

The  various  members  of  the  little  audience  were 

251 


252  Drowsy 

affected  by  the  song  in  different  ways  and  in  different 
degree,  according  to  temperament.  Some,  enraptured 
by  her  voice  and  art,  leaned  forward  in  aesthetic  joy. 
Others,  with  moister  eyes  and  quicker  breath,  gave 
out  their  hearts  to  the  deeper  meaning  of  the  song. 
Madame  Drusilla,  an  older  woman  whose  two  young 
sons  had  fallen  in  the  war,  sat  always,  on  these  occa 
sions,  with  head  bent  low,  her  face  in  her  hands.  But 
all  the  others  kept  their  eyes  upon  the  singer.  For 
the  personality  of  Madame  Francesca — as  she  wished 
to  be  called  since  her  retirement  from  the  world- 
possessed  in  itself  an  irresistible  charm.  Now,  stand 
ing  in  her  light  gray  uniform,  in  the  flood  of  golden 
light  from  the  great  windows,  she  seemed  transfigured 
—a  celestial  being  from  another  sphere. 

The  song  itself  was  the  outpouring  of  a  mother's 
love.  And  it  was  rendered  with  a  pathos,  a  beauty  and 
a  depth  of  feeling  that  stirred  the  heart  of  every 
listener.  It  seemed  to  the  sisters  a  marvel  of  dramatic 
art  that  a  woman,  however  great  an  artist,  could  so 
touch  the  hearts  of  others  when  not  herself  a  mother. 
And  they  marveled  that  a  woman  whose  physicians 
forbade  excitement  could  so  move  an  audience  and 
not  be  overwhelmed  herself  by  emotion. 

The  song  ended.  As  the  fingers  of  the  harpist 
moved  gently  across  the  strings,  in  the  last  notes  of 
the  accompaniment,  Madame  Francesca  stood  for  a 
moment  with  closed  eyes.  Her  breathing  and  the 
color  in  her  cheeks  showed  a  degree  of  feeling  which 
Sister  Lucrezia,  the  physician,  did  not  approve. 


The  Soul  of  a  Song  253 

Then  came  a  climax  to  the  song" — a  climax  far 
transcending  any  singer's  art.  In  this  short,  somewhat 
solemn  silence  that  followed  the  song,  there  appeared 
in  one  of  the  long  windows  that  opened  to  the  floor, 
a  figure  rarely  seen  within  the  -convent  walls.  It  was 
a  man.  And  the  man  was  neither  workman,  priest, 
grand  duke  or  king.  Neither  was  he  old.  Men  visi 
tors  were  rare,  and  the  few  that  entered  were  usually 
middle  aged  or  churchly.  This  visitor  was  young, 
hatless,  his  hair  in  disorder.  He  wore  a  checkered 
suit  and  leather  leggins,  and  he  was  in  no  way  ecclesi 
astical.  His  manner  was  eager, — somewhat  excited, 
with  eyes  fixed  earnestly  on  Sister  Francesca.  He 
paid  no  attention  to  the  other  sisters.  If  such  a  thing 
was  possible  he  was  ignorant  of  their  presence.  As 
for  the  sisters  they  were  too  surprised  to  speak,  or 
move.  They  merely  sat  and  stared. 

Cyrus  stepped  within,  slowly,  as  in  a  trance.  Slowly 
he  advanced  toward  Madame  Francesca.  She,  as  sur 
prised  as  any  of  the  others,  regarded  him  in  silence 
until  he  stopped  before  her.  As  they  stood  facing  each 
other,  the  western  light  on  both  their  faces,  the  specta 
tors — including  Ruth,  now  at  the  open  window — be 
gan  to  marvel.  Fear  began  to  mingle  with  surprise, 
for  many  in  the  audience  knew  that  famous  beauties 
could  be  tormented  by  crazy  lovers.  But  fear,  in  turn, 
gave  way  to  wonder,  for  it  proved  a  strange  inter 
view,  never  forgotten  by  those  who  saw  it.  No  words 
were  spoken.  No  words  were  needed.  In  the  eyes 
that  looked  into  his  own  Cyrus  read  their  greeting  as 


254  Drowsy 

clearly  as  in  an  open  book.  And  she,  as  clearly,  looked 
deep  into  his  heart — as  she  had  looked  into  the  heart 
of  his  father.  Now  in  his  responsive,  eager  face  she 
saw  the  confirmation  of  his  father's  letters,  that  she 
had  bequeathed  to  her  child  her  own  extraordinary 
faculty.  It  brought  a  sudden  joy,  this  assurance  of 
a  perfect  understanding.  Each  received,  in  full,  the 
other's  message.  In  the  face  of  Cyrus — with  his 
grandfather's  drowsy  eyes — she  saw  his  happiness  in 
this  meeting.  He  was  telling  her  in  unspoken  words 
of  his  childhood  yearnings ;  how  he  had  thought  and 
dreamed  of  her  from  early  boyhood;  that  he  had 
prayed  and  hoped  for  this  meeting.  And  now — here, 
had  come  the  fulfillment  of  all  his  dreams,  his  hopes, 
his  prayers !  And  he,  as  he  fathomed  to  their  secret 
depths  the  tragic  but  tender  eyes,  found  love  and  a 
heart-expanding  welcome. 

The  little  audience,  however,  saw  nothing  but  the 
outward,  silent  greetings.  To  them  was  not  revealed 
the  greater  happiness,  the  imperishable  bond. 

But  this  silent  meeting,  with  its  overwhelming  joy, 
was  the  prelude  to  the  drama — its  silent  overture. 
The  curtain  had  risen  on  the  Diva's  final  triumph,  the 
Immortal  Opera  with  its  happy  ending. 

To  the  amazement  of  the  audience  she  drew  the 
young  man's  face  to  hers  and  kissed  him  on  either 
cheek.  Then,  overcome  by  emotion,  as  it  seemed,  her 
head  fell  slowly  forward  on  his  breast.  Without  his 
supporting  arms  she  would  have  sunk  to  the  floor. 
The  sisters  saw,  and  hastened  to  her  side.  Cyrus,  with 


The  Soul  of  a  Song  255 

their  help,  carried  the  fainting  figure  to  a  nearby 
bench,  where  they  laid  her,  with  a  cushion  beneath 
her  head.  Sister  Lucrezia,  the  physician,  bent  anx 
iously  over  the  unconscious  form.  And  so  sudden  was 
it  all  that  her  hearers  could  hardly  believe  her  when 
at  last  she  arose,  and  solemnly  announced  that  the 
spirit  of  Madame  Francesca  had  risen  to  another  life. 

She  spoke  in  Italian  but  Cyrus  knew  its  meaning. 
His  head  drooped  and  he  stood  motionless,  crushed, 
as  if  his  own  spirit  and  that  of  the  sleeping  figure 
on  the  bench  were  still  together. 

It  was  the  Diva's  long  sleep.  The  last  notes  of 
her  enchanting  voice  had  died  away;  the  curtain  was 
down,  the  orchestra  gone,  the  lights  out.  The  audience 
had  vanished.  No  more  in  the  empty  house  would  be 
heard  the  clapping  of  hands,  the  cries  of  enthusiasm, 
the  bravos  and  encores. 

But  there  are  memories  that  never  die.  And  now, 
to  those  who  looked  upon  the  tranquil  face,  it  seemed 
as  if  memories  of  conquest  and  of  triumph — or  of 
something  higher — still  lingered  in  her  heart.  For 
the  face  was  more  than  peaceful.  There  was  a  smile 
upon  the  lips  that  bore  witness  to  a  perfect  content 
ment  beyond  the  touch  of  death. 


Cyrus  was  recalled  to  himself  by  the  voice  of  the 
Mother  Superior,  a  tall,  gray-haired,  kind-faced 
woman.  She  approached  him,  and  in  a  voice  of  sym- 


256  Drowsy 

pathy  addressed  him,  in  Italian.  He  understood  the 
meaning  of  the  message;  that  she  shared  his  grief, 
but  the  presence  of  men  was  forbidden;  the  rules 
were  strict,  and  she  begged  him  to  go.  He  expressed 
his  gratitude  by  a  respectful  inclination  and  a  few 
words  in  English.  Then  he  walked  over  to  the  silent 
figure.  Upon  her  folded  hands  he  laid  one  of  his 
own  and  stood,  for  a  moment,  looking  down  upon 
the  face.  The  rosy  light  from  the  western  sky  seemed 
to  bring  the  flush  of  life  to  the  Diva's  cheeks.  He 
knelt  beside  the  bench.  Reverently  he  touched  his 
lips  to  the  sleeper's  forehead. 

He  arose  and  moved  toward  the  terrace.  Near  the 
window  he  stopped,  and  to  the  watching  sisters  he 
bowed.  In  this  obeisance  he  told  his  sorrow  and  his 
profound  respect.  Then  he  turned  and  went  out  as  he 
came. 

The  Mother  Superior,  still  apprehensive,  asked 
Ruth  to  accompany  him  to  the  gates  and  make  sure 
of  his  departure.  But  Cyrus  did  not  walk  toward  the 
gates.  He  walked  toward  the  spot  where  he  and  Ruth 
had  met,  then  beyond  among  the  trees.  During  this 
walk  neither  spoke.  As  Cyrus  was  obviously  in 
deepest  sorrow  Ruth  refrained  from  words.  Ab 
sorbed  in  her  own  thoughts,  she  suddenly  realized 
that  she  was  approaching  an  unfamiliar  object.  This 
unfamiliar  object,  a  thing  about  twenty  feet  in  length 
and  a  little  taller  than  a  man,  might  pass  for  some 
unknown  monster  of  the  deep,  or  a  minor  whale. 
It  seemed  to  be  of  iron  with  a  trap-door  in  the  side 


The  Soul  of  a  Song  257 

just  large  enough  for  a  man  to  climb  within.  Its 
color  was  a  dull  gray. 

"Look!"  she  exclaimed.     "What  on  earth  is  that?" 

"My  flying  machine.     That  is  what  I  came  in." 

"You  came  in  that?" 

As  she  looked  up  at  him  he  nodded,  slowly,  and 
made  no  other  reply.  The  light  was  fading,  but  she 
could  see  that  a  change  had  come  into  his  face  since 
they  stood  together  at  the  garden  wall.  This  new 
expression  showed  a  side  of  his  character  that  she 
had  forgotten.  She  now  remembered  that  it  was  the 
same  look  that  had  come  into  his  face  when  he  van 
quished  the  Tormentor  in  the  Unitarian  Church,  years 
ago;  when  the  good  natured,  easy  going  boy  became, 
of  a  sudden,  a  reckless  gladiator,  the  fearless  de 
fender  who  fights — and  dies,  if  needed — for  a  sacred 
cause;  his  God,  his  Country,  or — on  that  occasion — 
for  his  girl.  It  told  deep  emotions,  of  strength  of 
purpose  and  the  courage  that  has  no  respect  for  ob 
stacles.  Yet  the  slumbrous  eyes  were  friendly  as  he 
said : 

"Come,  Ruth.  Come  home  with  me.  I  will  make 
you  happier  than  you  will  ever  be  in  this  place." 

"No,  Cyrus.     Nr.    I  cannot." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  will  stay  here  all  your 
life,  from  a  sense  of  duty?" 

"No — not  wholly.  Oh,  why  begin  all  over  again? 
Please  be  reasonable,  Drowsy.  Please  go  away 
quietly." 

His  voice  was  gentle,  but  there  was  something  in 


258  Drowsy 

his  face  that  recalled  the  boy  of  long  ago,  the  boy 
who  vanquished  giants.  Now  it  was  the  man — who 
might  defy  the  gods.  She  was  afraid : — of  what,  she 
knew  not.  But  she  took  a  backward  step,  a  hand  to 
her  breast  as  if  to  calm  a  nervous  heart.  There  was 
reason  to  be  afraid.  For  then  happened  the  unfor 
givable  thing — doubly  unforgivable  when  applied  to 
a  woman  of  sensibility  and  pride.  He  bent  forward, 
to  pick  up  something  at  her  feet,  she  thought.  Then, 
without  warning,  and  all  too  sudden  for  escape,  she 
felt  an  arm  behind  her  knees,  another  across  her  back, 
and  she  was  lifted  from  the  ground.  Before  she  could 
protest,  or  even  struggle,  he  pushed  open  the  door  of 
the  iron  monster  with  his  foot  and  passed  her  within 
as  if  she  were  a  child.  Gently  he  placed  her  on  the 
floor  and  climbed  in  himself.  She  found  herself  sit 
ting  in  front  of  him,  her  shoulders  held  firmly  be 
tween  his  knees.  He  shut  the  little  door  at  his  side 
and  all  was  dark.  A  button  was  pressed,  one  or  two 
small  levers  manipulated,  then  a  buzzing  sound,  a 
slight  quivering  of  the  car  and  through  the  port  hole 
in  front  she  saw  that  they  were  risfag  above  the  tops 
of  the  trees. 

Then,  high  into  the  air. 


XVII 

"I  MEAN  IT" 

SIX  hundred  .miles  an  hour,  to  old-time  travelers, 
might  seem  fast.     High  up  in  the  air,  however, 
some  miles  above  the  earth  with  nothing  beneath 
but   the  Atlantic  Ocean,   it  seems  a  moderate  pace. 
There  are  none  of  the  usual  landmarks  to  guage  one's 
speed;   no   telegraph   poles,   houses,   or  towns.      The 
few  ships  one  passes,  seen  far  below,  are  movable  ob 
jects  with  no  definite  relation  to  your  own  progress. 
Also,  in  a  practically  air  tight  conveyance  no  wind  can 
beat  against  your  face. 

While  three  hours  may  seem  brief  for  a  transatlan 
tic  passage  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  time  Cyrus 
lost  in  going  Eastward  he  gained  in  going  \Yest.  The 
surface  of  our  little  earth  moves  eastward  about  a 
thousand  miles  an  hour ;  so,  with  North  America  rush- 

259 


260  Drowsy 

ing  forward  to  meet  him  he  could  easily  make  the 
journey  of  five  thousand  miles  and  more  in  the  four 
hours,  and  almost  without  hurrying.  There  is  a  start 
ling  difference  in  celerity  between  an  automobile  and 
a  yoke  of  oxen;  more  still  between  a  steamship  and  a 
cannon-ball :  and  Cyrus'  device  was  capable  of  any 
speed  that  he  dared  to  travel.  The  only  delays  were 
in  starting  off,  and  in  approaching  his  own  Coast. 
Once  above  Massachusetts,  however,  he  could  easily 
find  Longfields.  The  landmarks  were  familiar. 

During  this  journey  very  little  conversation  took 
place  between  his  passenger  and  himself.  Sitting  on 
the  floor  in  front  of  him,  her  shoulders  between  his 
knees,  he  could  not  see  her  face.  She  made  no  ac 
knowledgment  of  his  speeches  and  gave  no  answer  to 
any  questions.  He  was  correct  in  his  belief  that  she 
was  both  alarmed  and  angry.  But  he  did  not  know 
at  the  time  that  her  anger  far  exceeded  her  alarm. 
This  he  realized,  however,  when  he  helped  her  from 
the  car  at  the  door  of  her  aunt's  house  in  Longfields. 

For  a  moment  she  leaned  against  the  door,  weak, 
trembling,  dazed,  her  hair  disarranged,  her  cheeks  hot. 
No  words  had  been  spoken  during  the  last  two  hours. 
This  long  silence  he  was  the  first  to  break. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  Ruth,  won't  you?" 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  each  other's  faces,  but  this 
time  had  her  eyes  met  his  there  would  be  nothing  to 
conceal.  Her  anger  and  her  dislike  were  deep  and 
sincere.  She  answered  in  a  low  tone,  but  the  tone  and 


"I  Mean  It"  261 

manner  revealed  a  repugnance  of  whose  existence 
there  could  be  no  doubt. 

"Do  not  speak  to  me  again ;  ever.    Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  I  hear." 

"I  mean  it." 

With  a  quivering  hand  she  turned  the  knob,  entered 
the  house  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

That  Ruth  meant  all  she  said  was  soon  made  clear 
to  Cyrus — very  clear  indeed.  Two  days  later — after 
giving  her  time  to  recover — he  came  to  her  aunt's 
house  with  a  little  bouquet  of  flowers,  hopefully  gath 
ered  by  his  own  hands  in  his  own  garden.  With  it  was 
a  note,  an  eloquent  little  plea  for  forgiveness,  so  hum 
ble  and  so  sincere  as  to  soften  a  heart  of  granite.  He 
knocked  at  the  front  door,  and  waited.  At  last — it 
might  have  been  a  year  that  he  waited — the  door  was 
opened. 

"Good  morning,  Stella." 

"Good  morning,  Cyrus." 

Stella  was  the  daughter  of  Abner  Phillips,  the  har 
ness  maker,  and  she  and  Ruth  and  Cyrus  had  been 
playmates  together  in  the  old  days  at  the  red  school 
house.  The  little  harness  business  had  suffered — even 
more  than  other  things — with  the  decline  of  Long- 
fields,  and  had  finally  expired.  Stella  had  been  out  at 
service  for  the  last  few  years.  She  was  an  angular 
maiden  with  thin  lips  and  sharp  eyes. 

"Will  you  please  take  this  note  and  the  flowers  to 
Ruth,  Stella,  and  ask  if  I  can  see  her?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  won't  you  come  in?" 


262  Drowsy 

"No,  thank  you.    I'll  just  wait  here." 

On  the  doorstep  he  waited,   but  not  long;  Stella 
quickly  returned  with  the  note  and  the  flowers. 

She     seemed     embarrassed.       "Ruth     says     she — 
she- 

"Out  with  it,  Stella." 

"She  says  she  won't  see  you." 

"Won't  see  me!    Is  that  just  what  she  said?" 

The  maiden  hesitated.  As  a  friend  of  both  and 
strictly  neutral,  her  position  was  awkward. 

"Why— yes." 

"Just  what  did  she  say,  Stella?" 

"She  said,  give  him  back  his  flowers  and  his  note 
and  tell  him  not  to  come  again." 

This  was  clear  to  the  dullest  lover.  And  the  words 
cut  deeper  still  as  he  saw  in  the  face  of  the  sharp 
eyed  ambassadress  an  impressible  gleam  of  pity — or 
exultation — he  could  not  tell  \vhich.  Cyrus  blushed 
like  a  girl.  For  a  moment  his  drowsy  eyes  gazed 
blindly  at  Stella,  then  at  the  flowers  and  the  note  as 
if  trying  to  realize  what  had  happened.  The  effort 
was  painful.  The  flowers  seemed  to  be  jubilant  in 
their  gayety,  and  jeering  at  him.  He  had  believed, 
until  this  moment,  that  he  was  prepared  for  the  worst. 
He  had  also  believed,  from  his  knowledge  of  women 
in  history  and  fiction  that  they  changed  their  minds 
with  ease — in  short,  that  honest  lovers  never  need 
despair.  This  blow  seemed  to  paralyze  his  senses. 
But  Pride  came  to  his  rescue.  It  made  him  realize  the 
degradation  of  appearing  a  fool  before  Stella.  So, 


"I  Mean  It"  263 

collecting  his  scattered  wits  he  raised  his  head  and 
smiled  upon  the  waiting  maiden.  There  was  a  quiver 
ing  of  the  lip,  however,  as  he  said  in  a  manner  labor- 
ously  offhand — and,  of  course,  unsuccessful: 

"Oh,  well,  I  must  try  again.  Thank  you,  Stella. 
Good-by." 

As  he  reached  the  gate  she  saw  him  toss  the  flow 
ers  to  the  ground. 

His  state  of  mind  as  he  walked  blindly  along  the 
village  street,  beneath  the  arching  elms,  could  not 
be  described  in  articulate  language.  Sorrow,  anger, 
humiliation,  all  struggled  for  control.  Resignation 
was  not  among  them.  So  Ruth  was  really  in  earnest. 
If  she  hated  and  despised  him,  why  live?  This  tumult 
within,  while  it  numbed  his  senses — and  might  lead 
to  tragedy — provided  mirth  for  others.  Just  in  front 
of  the  store  a  group  of  children  ran  across  his  path. 
They  were  followed,  slowly,  by  a  large  Newfoundland 
dog,  a  well-known  character  in  the  village.  He 
officiated,  as  is  customary  among  dogs,  as  guardian 
and  boon  companion  to  children,  all  of  whom  he 
loved.  His  name  was  Major.  He  belonged  to  little 
Jason  Howard,  but  he  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
every  child  in  Longfields.  Major  happened  to  stroll 
across  the  sidewalk  just  in  front  of  Cyrus.  The  dis 
carded  lover,  blind  to  outward  things,  collided  with 
him.  Always  a  gentleman  and  never  forgetting  his 
manners,  Cyrus  stopped,  and — Ruth  being  the  only 
thing  in  his  mind — he  raised  his  cap  and  bowed  po 
litely. 


264  Drowsy 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  It  was  my  fault.  Excuse 
me." 

And  all  with  a  sober  face.  The  children  laughed, 
supposing  Cyrus  was  being  funny  for  their  amuse 
ment.  But  never  in  his  life  had  Cyrus  felt  less  like 
being  funny.  Soberly  he  walked  away  not  even  hear 
ing  their  laughter. 

After  this  interview  with  Major  he  at  once  re 
lapsed  into  the  Canon  of  Despair.  For  his  was  the 
agony  of  a  man  of  honor  who  feels  he  has  committed 
a  disgraceful  act,  and  has  lost,  for  all  time,  the  re 
spect  and  good  opinion  of  the  being  whose  affection 
he  valued  above  all  other  things. 

It  seemed  but  a  moment  after  leaving  Major  that 
he  found  himself  standing  before  two  women  and  say 
ing  "how  do  you  do" — or  something  equally  signifi 
cant.  With  a  mighty  effort  to  ignore  the  past — and 
the  future — he  recognized  the  two  elderly  maidens  as 
Miss  Fidelia  Allen  and  Miss  Anita  Clement.  They 
had  stopped  and  were  passing  the  time  of  day  with 
him.  He  realized,  blindly,  that  Miss  Clement  had 
opened  a  book  and  was  telling  him  about  it.  Miss 
Clement  had  the  faculty  of  expressing  a  barren  idea 
in  a  wealth  of  language.  So,  while  the  listener's 
drowsy — and  now  dreaming — eyes  rested  on  the 
speaker's  lips  he  was  seeing,  not  Miss  Clement's  face, 
but  a  face  more  threatening,  yet  of  greater  interest. 
As  to  the  effect  of  Miss  Clement's  well  chosen  words 
on  the  listener's  far  away  mind,  the  sound  from  her 
lips  might  have  been  the  murmuring  of  pines.  And 


"I  Mean  It"  265 

as  for  The  Only  Woman  in  the  world,  if  other  women 
had  changed  their  minds  why  not  this  one?  He  re 
called  the  look  in  her  eyes  when 

"Do  tell  us  what  you  think  of  it — just  how  you  feel 
about  it,  Cyrus?" 

As  the  wild  horse  of  the  prairies  is  suddenly  jerked 
to  earth  by  a  lasso,  so  came  back  Cyrus. 

"Oh — oh — very  well,  indeed,  thank  you.  Never 
better." 

"I  meant  about  this  new  thought  from  the  Orient. 
Just  how  deeply  it  impresses  you.  Just  where,  among 
the  great  thinkers,  you  would  place  Rub-a  Shah  La- 
gore." 

"That's  it  exactly!  Rubbish  galore!  Couldn't  ex 
press  it  better.  Somebody  described  all  that  stuff  as 
transcendental  flim-flam."  And  he  smiled  his  most 
winning  smile — a  smile  of  sympathy,  of  fine  intelli 
gence  and  a  lively  interest  in  the  conversation. 

But  Miss  Clement  stiffened  a  little,  and  frowned. 
"Do  you  feel  that  way?" 

"Possibly  you  don't  know  Rub-a  Shah  Lagore," 
said  Miss  Fidelia,  more  gently. 

"Know  him?  Oh,  yes,"  said  Cyrus.  "I  know  him. 
That  is,  I  think  I  met  him.  Was  it  in  Cambridge  ?" 

"I  doubt  it,"  said  Miss  Clement,  "as  he  died  about 
fifteen  hundred." 

"Fifteen  hundred!"  Cyrus  smiled,  nodded  and  tried 
to  appear  at  ease.  "Still  I  may  have  met  him  in  a 
previous  incarnation." 

Then,  apropos  of  incarnations,  Miss  Clement  dis- 


266  Drowsy 

coursed  on  the  Oriental  mind,  on  matters  psychic, 
philosophic,  mystic  and  occult.  And  as  she  talked, 
and  drifted  hither  and  thither  on  a  sea  of  words, 
Cyrus  floated  off  in  his  own  direction,  and  was  re 
calling  once  again  the  look  in  Ruth's  eyes — that  min 
gling  of  anger  and  contempt  when  Miss  Clement 
again  suddenly  brought  him  back  to  the  village  street. 

"Don't  you  think  so  yourself?" 

Cyrus  pulled  himself  together.  "Er — well — perhaps 
I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"Do  you  know  of  any  richer  period  in  human 
thought?  Any  greater  age?" 

"Any  greater  age?  No,  certainly  not.  You  mean 
fifteen  hundred  years?  It  certainly  beats  all  records. 
That  is,  of  course,  all  human  records.  Elephants, 
parrots  and  turtles,  I  believe,  live  to  a  green  old  age, 
but  nothing  like — 

Just  what  happened  after  that  Cyrus  did  not  re 
member.  He  found  himself  walking  home  with  clear 
memories  of  Ruth,  intermingled  with  blurred  but  pain 
ful  impressions  of  two  maiden  ladies,  frowning  in  sur 
prise  and  annoyance  as  they  said  good-by  and  turned 
away. 

Of  one  thing  only  was  he  certain :  that  in  the  utter 
ance  of  senseless  words  he  had  surpassed  all  previous 
records,  ancient  or  modern. 


XVIII 

THE  CAfiON  OF  DESPAIR 

AS  to  human  wisdom,  the  best  that  can  be  said 
is  that  some  of  us  are  less  crazy  than  others. 
Also,  that  the  habitually  foolish  person,  he  who 
is   foolish  by  preference — or  by  unalterable  Fate — is 
less  disturbing  than  your  usually  sensible  friend  who 
suddenly  becomes  fatuous. 

This  was  realized  by  Joanna  during  the  next  few 
days.  Cyrus  caused  her  serious  alarm.  On  his  new 
and  larger  air  craft  he  worked  with  such  feverish 
haste  that  he  forgot  to  eat  or  go  to  bed  until  reminded 
of  those  habits.  In  the  matter  of  eating  he  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  memory  as  to  when  or  how  to  do  it. 
He  poured  tea  instead  of  maple  syrup  on  his  rice 
cakes;  he  recognized  no  difference  in  flavor  between 
salt  and  powdered  sugar,  marmalade  or  mustard.  Jo 
anna's  strawberry  shortcake,  the  very  best  in  the 

267 


268  Drowsy 

world — and  his  favorite  dish — he  regarded  with  un 
seeing  eyes  and  forgot  to  eat  it.  His  reply  to  nearly 
all  her  demands  for  information  on  whatever  subject, 
was  a  smiling  "Certainly,  of  course." 

But  these  were  trifles.  In  his  cup  of  bitterness  there 
still  were  dregs :  and  sleepless  Fate  had  not  forgotten 
them.  The  cup  was  to  be  emptied.  Late  one  after 
noon,  three  days  after  the  rebuff  to  his  note,  his  flow 
ers  and  himself,  he  was  returning  from  Springfield 
alone  in  his  motor.  About  a  mile  from  Longfields, 
where  the  road  ran  through  some  woods,  he  saw  a  fig 
ure  on  ahead,  walking  toward  the  village.  It  was  a 
female  figure,  short,  slight,  erect,  and  moving  with 
a  light  and  rather  jaunty  step.  It  wore  a  continental 
hat,  a  white  shirt  waist  and  a  white  skirt.  He  recog 
nized  this  person  at  first  glance,  ran  his  car  ahead  of 
her  a  short  distance,  then  stopped  at  the  side  of  the 
road,  got  out  and  walked  back  to  meet  her.  This  time 
there  was  no  elaborate  salutation  a  la  Grande  Mon 
arch.  It  was  a  simple  raising  of  his  cap  and  a  tenta 
tive,  humble  minded  greeting. 

"Good  day,  Ruth." 

"Good  day,  Cyrus." 

She  smiled,  but  the  smile  brought  no  sunshine  to 
his  heart;  a  perfunctory  smile  of  duty  and  good  man 
ners,  such  as  might  have  greeted  any  other  human  ani 
mal.  And  as  she  stood  there,  against  the  dark  back 
ground  of  the  woods,  calm,  cold,  beautiful,  and  oh! 
so  far  away! — he  saw  aversion  in  her  face  and  in 
every  line  of  the  rigid  little  figure. 


The  Canon  of  Despair         269 

In  a  low,  uncertain  voice  he  spoke.  "So  you  will 
never  forgive  me?" 

For  a  moment  she  looked  away,  beyond  him,  along 
the  road  toward  the  village.  "I  forgive  you  a  great 
deal.  I  forgive  your  taking  me  by  force  and  against 
my  will  from  a  welcome  refuge  where  I  was  looking 
forward  to  a  peaceful,  happy  life.  But  the  greater 
wrong  you  have  done  me,  the  irreparable  injury — 
that  is  harder  to  forgive." 

"Irreparable  injury?    What  do  you  mean,  Ruth?" 

Her  eyebrows  went  up.  "Indeed!  You  really  do 
not  know  what  I  mean?" 

"On  my  honor  I  do  not." 

"I  mean  my  reputation — the  loss  of  my  good  name." 

"Oh,  Ruth!     Why  you— oh — don't  say  that!" 

Calmly,  but  with  an  obvious  effort  at  self  control 
she  answered : 

"Do  you  think  there  is  no  gossip  in  Longfields,  no 
comment  on  my  unexpected  arrival?  Do  you  think 
an  unmarried  woman  can  travel  about  the  world  alone 
with  a  young  man  as  I  did,  and  keep  her  good  name?" 

"I  never  thought  of  it — in  that  way.  On  my  honor 
-I  did  not." 

"Do  you  know  of  any  other  respectable  young 
woman  of  your  acquaintance  who  has  done  anything 
like  it?" 

"But  it  was  all  my  doing.  You  couldn't  help  it. 
Don't  they  all  know  that?" 

"No.  Why  should  they  know  it?  Will  they  be 
lieve  that  you,  whom  they  have  known  from  boyhood, 


2  yo  Drowsy 

whom  they  respect  and  like,  would  carry  me  off  by 
force,  entirely  against  my  will?"  Then  with  a  bitter 
little  laugh:  "Oh,  no!  They  are  not  so  simple!  And 

some  woman  has  started  a  story  that  we "  Her 

face  became  crimson  and  she  covered  it  for  a  moment 
with  her  hands — "Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it." 

Cyrus  closed  his  eyes.  His  head  drooped.  "I  never 
thought  of  all  that.  I  was  stupid.  I  can  see  it  now. 
I  don't  blame  you  for  hating  me." 

Ruth  went  on,  speaking  with  nervous  haste.  "A 
pleasanter  bit  of  scandal  never  happened  in  this  vil 
lage.  I  could  not  bear  to  live  here.  It  would  kill  me 
to  live  here." 

"You  are  not  going  away !" 

"Indeed  lam!" 

"Where?" 

"To  Worcester,  to  earn  my  living  as  a  nurse." 

"Listen,  Ruth.  Let  me  do  something,  no  matter 
what.  Let  me  take  you,  or  send  you  back  to  the 
Convent." 

"The  Convent!  The  Convent!"  she  repeated,  and 
her  cheeks  reddened.  "Do  you  think  the  Convent  a 
refuge  for  women  who  leave  it  as  I  did? — for  women 
who  elope  with — oh !  It's  for  better  women  than 
that !  They  would  never  allow  me  within  its  gates." 

"Then  let  me  atone  in  some  way." 

"Indeed!    And  how?" 

"In  any  way  you  say — there's  all  my  money — take 
some  of  it — all  of  it.  Not  as  a  gift,  but  in  some  busi 
ness  way.  Let  me  buy  something  at  a — 


The  Canon  of  Despair         271 

"Clever  thought !  Regild  my  reputation  with  Cyrus 
Alton's  money!" 

"Then  marry  me.  Be  my  wife,  only  in  name.  I 
swear  to  you — I — will  never  see  you  if  you  wish  it. 
Or — or  trouble  you  in  any  way.  Only  let  me  do  some 
thing.  I  had  no  idea  of — of  what — of  what  all  this 
meant  to  you." 

"Your  wife!"  she  laughed  a  scornful,  tragic,  broken 
hearted  little  laugh.  "Never  in  this  world.  Never! 
Never  that!" 

She  turned  and  walked  away. 

He  walked  beside  her.     "Please  listen.     I  will  do 
anything  you  say.     I  know  I  deserve  it  all,  but  that 
afternoon  at  the  convent  I  was  not  myself.     After 
what  happened  I  was  all  wrought  up.    My  brain- 
She  stopped,  turned  about  and  faced  him. 

"Yes,  there  is  one  thing  you  can  do.  Leave  me  now. 
And  let  us  not  be  seen  together  again — ever." 

For  a  brief  moment  they  stood  confronting  each 
other.  And  Cyrus  looked  deep  into  the  eyes  that  once 
had  been  his  guiding  stars ;  the  friendly  eyes  in  whose 
depths  his  boy  heart  had  sought — and  never  in  vain 
— encouragement,  or  consolation.  Now,  he  was  find 
ing  in  their  contemptuous  beauty  only  the  cold  ashes 
of  their  childhood  devotion. 

Then,  once  more,  she  turned  her  back  upon  him 
Erect  and  with  decisive  steps,  the  little  figure  departed. 
He  stood  watching  her  as  she  walked — walking  out  of 
his  life.  In  his  brain  and  in  his  heart  was  a  numbing 


272  Drowsy 

pain — the  knowledge  that  his  highest  hopes  were  dead 
— killed,  and  by  himself! 

There  and  there  he  made  a  decision,  a  decision  of 
vital  import  to  himself.  And  why  not?  Who  in  the 
world,  except  Joanna  would  mourn,  or  even  miss  him  ? 
If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  consolation  when  hope  is 
dead,  he  found  it  in  a  great  resolve. 

As  he  passed  her  in  his  car  he  raised  his  cap  and 
murmured 

"Morituri  te  salutamus." 


XIX 

A  YOUNG  MAN  TALKS 

RUTH  was  in  earnest  when  she  told  Cyrus  of  her 
intention  to  become  a  nurse.     Some  experience 
in  that  line,  while  in  Europe,  had  fitted  her  for 
the  work  and  she  found  little  difficulty  in  securing  a 
position  in  a  Worcester  Hospital.     Possibly  her  pre 
possessing  appearance  was  a  help.     The  Superintend 
ent,  being  human,  was  not  immune,  perhaps,  to  the 
influence  of  an  interesting  personality,  especially  in 
combination  with  an  attractive   face  and  voice  and 
figure. 

After  this  interview  at  the  hospital,  about  the  mid 
dle  of  the  day,  she  took  a  return  train  for  Spring 
field. 

When  she  entered  the  car  at  the  Worcester  Sta 
tion,  and  found  a  vacant  seat,  she  gave  no  special 
attention  to  the  two  men  in  the  seat  just  behind  her 

273 


274  Drowsy 

own.  She  merely  noticed  that  the  carefully  dressed 
young  man  nearest  the  aisle  had  an  intelligent  wide 
awake  face,  and  that  his  companion — next  the  win 
dow — was  suffering  from  a  cold  in  the  head  of  aggra 
vated  dimensions.  His  aqueous  eyes  and  swollen 
nose,  his  sneezes  and  his  busy  handkerchief  told  the 
familiar  and  unromantic  drama  of  a  mucous  mem 
brane  at  war  with  its  owner. 

The  weather  this  day — a  week  or  so  after  the 
interview  with  Cyrus — was  cloudy,  damp  and  other 
wise  depressing.  She  felt,  of  course,  gratification  in 
the  success  of  her  mission  at  the  hospital.  Her 
thoughts,  however,  were  not  entirely  rosy  as  she  looked 
from  the  car  window  on  this  homeward  journey,  gaz 
ing  absently  on  the  sunless  landscape.  She  had  much 
to  think  about,  and  often,  during  this  little  journey 
from  Worcester  she  tried  vainly  to  escape  from  un 
welcome  memories.  At  the  mention  of  a  familiar 
name,  however,  these  wandering  thoughts  were  cen 
tered  suddenly  on  the  conversation  of  the  two  men 
in  the  seat  behind  her. 

"Alton,  Cyrus  Alton.     Guess  you've  met  him." 
"Yez,  I  thig  zo.     Kide  of  sleeby  eyes,  hasn'd  he?" 
"Yep.    His  eyes  are  sleepy,  but,  gee  whiz!    He  does 
things." 

"Whad  thigs?" 

"Oh,  anything — if  it's  impossible." 

"Didn'd  he  bake  a  lod  of  bunny  all  of  a  zudden?" 

"Bet  your  life  he  did!    Made  it  while  you  wait." 

"How  budge?" 


A  Young  Man  Talks          275 

"God  knows." 

"How  did  he  do  id?" 

"God  knows  that  too: — He  and  Alton.  You  can 
hear  anything.  Some  say  a  rich  widow,  others,  a  pi 
rate's  cave.  Perhaps  it's  just  a  friendly  tip  from  his 
Partner." 

"Who  is  his  bardner?" 

"The  Almighty.'' 

"You  bead  he  is  bious?" 

"Nixy  not!  He's  a  scientist,  and  science  and  piety 
don't  seem  to  cuddle  much.  He  has  discovered — or 
his  Big  Partner  has  told  him — some  secret  of  elec 
tricity  that  is  just  the  humpingest  thing  out  of  jail. 
It's  going  to  revolutionize  the  whole  human  out 
fit;  business,  travel,  transportation.  As  to  little 
things  like  manufactures  in  peace  and  wholesale  de 
struction  in  war,  why,  we've  got  to  begin  all  over 
again.  You  just  can't  digest  it.  And  it's  so  simple 
that  you  laugh  when  you  think  of  it." 

"Doe!     Really?" 

"Yep;  that's  no  exaggeration." 

"Thad's  inderesdig.  I  have  heard  vague  rubers 
aboud  id  bud  nothing  like  thad.  Just  whad  is  id?" 

"Just  what  is  it.  Well,  that's  an  easy  question  to 
ask.  When  he  blabs  his  secret  then  we'll  all  know. 
But  he  says  it's  so  simple  that  it's  sure  to  be  discov 
ered  some  day." 

"I  spoze  you  doe  him  breddy  well." 

"Yep,  in  a  way.  He  orders  his  electric  stuff  through 
us.  A  year  ago  when  he  was  so  poor  he  used  to  foot 


276  Drowsy 

it  to  save  trolley  fare  the  boss  trusted  him  for  twelve 
hundreds  dollars'  worth  of  radium." 

"Good  for  the  boss !  He  was  a  zpord.  Did  he  ever 
get  his  bunny  bag?" 

"Twice  over.  Oh,  Alton  didn't  forget  it.  He's  as 
straight  as  a  string." 

"Well,  he  bay  be  all  ride  in  sub  ways  bud  he  busd 
be  jusd  aboud  grazy  to  sdard  on  thad  jourdy." 

"Oh,  I  dunno.  He  has  done  some  big  stunts  already. 
And  he's  pretty  level  headed." 

"Yez,  bud  id  seebs  like  suizide  to  be.  How  var 
away  is  Bars,  eddyway?" 

"Oh,  just  a  step.  I  believe  the  astronomers  call  it 
about  forty-eight  millions  of  miles." 

"Vorty-eight  billions  of  biles?    Whew!" 

"No,  forty-eight  millions — not  billions." 

The  Rose  Cold  tried  to  laugh.  "Yez  I  doe  id  iz — 
but  with  thiz  invernal  drouble  I  gan'd  prodounce  by 
ebs." 

"Of  course;  beg  your  pardon." 

"Thad's  all  ride.  But  dell  be,  is  he  really  goig  to 
dry  vor  id?" 

"Sure  thing.     He  may  have  started  already." 

Here  both  men  noticed  in  a  careless  way,  a  move 
ment  of  the  shoulders  of  the  girl  in  front  of  them 
when  a  hand  went  nervously  to  her  face.  And  it  so 
happened  that  the  Rose  Cold's  next  words  were  the 
expression  of  her  own  thoughts  when  he  said: 

"The  bad's  a  vool !" 

"No,"  said  the  younger  man;  "he's  not  a  fool.    He 


A  Young  Man  Talks          277 

has  done  a  lot  of  figuring  over  it, — and  experimenting. 
You  see  his  machine  is  too  good  to  be  true.  It  can 
shoot  through  space  at  the  same  rate  as  electric  waves, 
or  waves  of  light." 

"And  how  vasd  is  thad?" 

"About  a  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  miles  a 
second." 

"Doe!" 

"Yep." 

"And  you  really  believe  id  ?" 

"Sure." 

"Id's  sibly  imbossible." 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  thinking  so.  But  that's  just 
why  Alton  likes  it.  If  it  was  possible  it  wouldn't 
interest  him.  Miracles  are  his  daily  food.  Gad,  he's 
a  wonder !" 

"A  hundred  and  eighty  thouzand  biles  a  zegond ! 
Doe — thad's  doo  buch  vor  bee." 

"No  wonder  you  don't  believe  it.  It  surely  is  going 
some.  Beats  oxen." 

"Aboud  how  log  would  id  taig  him  to  ged  there 
ad  thad  rade?" 

Here  came  a  silence  while  the  younger  man  did 
some  figuring.  "About  five  seconds.  But  of  course 
no  human  being,  even  in  an  air-tight  cylinder,  could 
keep  his  head — or  anything  else,  at  that  rate.  He  al 
lows  about  twelve  hours  to  get  there." 

"Dwelve  hours !  Vorty-eight  billion  biles  in  twelve 
hours !  Why  zo  zlow  ? 

"Well,  he's  got  to  go  slow  through  the  six  or  seven 


278  Drowsy 

miles  of  our  atmosphere.  Then,  he  doesn't  know  what 
sort  of  atmosphere  surrounds  Mars.  So  that'll  take 
time  like  entering  an  unknown  harbor.  To  be  really 
safe  he'll  have  to  jog  along  slowly — on  an  average  of 
four  or  five  million  miles  an  hour." 

The  Rose  Cold  laughed.  "Beads  vairy  dales, 
doesn'd  id?" 

"To  a  frazzle." 

"But  the  bravesd  bad  in  the  world  gan'd  go  all  day 
withoud  breathig." 

"True  enough.  But  Alton  has  the  same  system  of 
oxygen  cylinders  as  the  U-boats — only  better.  More 
condensed  and  lasts  longer.  Uses  same  air  more  times 
without  deteriorating." 

"Well,  whadever  habbens,  he  busd  be  glever." 

"Clever!     He  beats -the  devil." 

"Will  he  ever  gum  bag,  Jibby?" 

"Dunno." 

"I  subbose  the  gradest  danger  is  in  being  hid  by  a 
medeoride.  I  understand  those  rogs  are  always 
shoodig  about  in  spaze." 

"Yep;  and  all  the  way  in  size  from  a  liver  pill  to  a 
state  house.  But  that  isn't  what'll  knock  him  out." 

"Berhabs  dod,  bud  I  shouldn'd  gare  do  be  there  iv 
one  habbened  to  hid  him." 

"Right  you  are.  He'd  have  about  as  much  show  as 
a  bottle  of  ginger  ale  colliding  with  a  locomotive.  But 
astronomers  say  they  are  not  so  very  numerous.  \Vhat 
he's  most  afraid  of  himself  is  some  sudden  electric 
disturbance  in  his  own  machine  that  will  put  his  own 


A  Young  Man  Talks          279 

nervous  system  out  of  commission.  You  see  nobody 
really  knows  what  is  going  on  in  space.  And  if  his 
nerves  or  lungs  or  brain  go  back  on  him,  in  anyway — 
Ping ! — he's  a  goner." 

After  a  pause  the  Rose  Cold  spoke  in  a  more  serious 
tone. 

"Well,  I  taig  off  my  had  to  him.  It's  a  big  thig, 
thad  zord  of  gourage." 

"I  should  say!  And  he  knows  himself  there  isn't 
one  chance  in  a  hundred  of  his  ever  touching  this  little 
earth  again." 

Here  the  attention  of  both  men  was  drawn  to  the 
girls  in  front  of  them,  who  suddenly  started  from 
her  seat — with  both  hands  pressed  hard  against  her 
face.  She  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  in  pain,  or  under 
some  mental  disturbance.  Then,  sinking  back  into  her 
seat,  she  appeared  to  be  looking  quietly  out  of  the  win 
dow  during  the  short  remainder  of  the  journey. 
Although  her  action  caused  them  no  further  interest, 
nor  curiosity,  it  served  to  divert  their  talk  from  Cyrus 
Alton — a  subject  apparently  exhausted — to  other  mat 
ters  of  no  interest  to  Ruth  Heywood. 


XX 

ANOTHER  MESSAGE 

WHEN  Ruth  left  the  train  and  took  the  stage 
for  Longfields  her  spirit  was  in  revolt — in 
revolt  against  herself,  against  Cyrus  and 
against  the  progress  of  the  vehicle.  But  any  vehicle, 
however  fast,  would  have  been  too  slow  on  that  after 
noon.  She  left  the  conveyance  at  Cyrus  Alton's 
driveway.  This  was  her  first  visit  to  the  Alton's  home 
since  her  sudden  departure,  so  many  years  ago.  And 
now,  as  she  walked  toward  the  house,  almost  every 
foot  of  ground,  every  object  in  the  spacious  yard,  the 
old  maples  and  the  house  itself,  seemed  accusing  her 
of  treason  and  of  heartless  murder.  From  every  side, 
however,  came  pleasant  memories  of  bygone  days, — 
like  flowers  in  a  forsaken  garden.  And  all  of  Cyrus! 
Never  was  a  yard  so  full  of  history.  And  now  that 

280 


Another  Message  281 

Cyrus  was  gone — gone  forever,  driven  from  the  world 
by  her  own  cruelty, — her  over  sensitive  spirit  writhed 
beneath  the  stings  of  conscience.  Every  recollection 
seemed  to  increase  her  guilt.  Hardest  to  bear,  in  all 
this  vista  of  the  past,  was  the  clear,  undying  fact  that 
the  cherubic,  sleepy  eyed  little  boy  always  stood  be 
tween  herself  and  trouble. 

These  memories  overwhelmed  her.  There  was  the 
old  maple  in  whose  shade  she  and  Drowsy  played  keep 
ing  house.  They  pretended  Zac  was  President  of  the 
United  States  who  had  dropped  in  for  dinner.  Only 
ginger  bread  and  sour  grapes  were  served  and  Drowsy 
gave  her  the  biggest  half  of  the  gingerbread  because 
she,  also,  was  a  guest.  Zac,  always  loyal,  ate  one  or 
two  of  the  green  grapes  just  because  Cyrus  did.  And 
the  stone  wall  that  saved  their  lives ; — at  least,  she 
thought  so  when  Mr.  Randall's  horse  came  snorting 
toward  them  across  the  field,  on  the  other  side.  He 
seemed  close  at  their  heels  when  Cyrus  boosted  her  up 
and  pushed  her  over  before  he  climbed  up  himself. 
He  pushed  so  hard — against  that  part  of  the  body  on 
which  we  sit — that  she  landed  on  her  face,  and  the 
short,  stiff  blades  of  grass  that  had  just  been  mowed, 
cut  the  inside  of  her  nose.  She  tried  to  smile  as  she 
remembered,  with  a  gulp,  that  although  he  was  badly 
scared  himself  he  was  the  last  to  climb  over  the  wall. 
Yes,  he  always  gave  her  first  chance  at  everything — 
in  peace  or  war! 

And  there  the  well,  where  she  and  Susie  Jordan  had 
a  quarrel  one  Sunday  after  Church,  and  Susie  threw 


282  Drowsy 

a  dipperful  of  water  on  Ruth's  head.  It  spoiled  her 
new  hat  and  she  burst  into  tears.  Then  Cyrus  walked 
up  to  Susie — Ruth  could  see  him  now  as  if  it  were  yes 
terday — made  one  of  his  lowest  bows,  as  if  to  apolo 
gize  in  advance,  then  slapped  her  hard  on  both  cheeks. 
After  slapping  her  he  backed  away  a  few  steps  and 
made  yet  another  profound  obeisance,  as  a  judge,  after 
performing  a  painful  duty,  might  salute  a  prisoner  of 
high  degree. 

But  now  she  was  in  too  great  haste  to  linger  long 
over  memories,  or  anything  else.  She  hurried  on  to 
the  house.  Tearful,  smiling,  but  on  the  very  edge  of 
sobs,  she  rang  the  door  bell.  Too  impatient  to  wait 
she  entered  and  walked  into  the  sitting  room.  The 
same  old  sitting  room,  and  changed  but  little  since  she 
saw  it  last.  On  the  walls  the  same  green  paper,  just 
a  little  more  faded,  perhaps,  at  certain  places  where  the 
morning  sun  had  loitered.  Almost  covering  the  cen 
ter  table  were  books,  papers  and  magazines. 

Joanna  entered.  The  greetings  were  cordial.  Then, 
for  a  few  moments  they  sat  facing  each  other,  Ruth 
in  an  arm  chair,  Joanna  on  the  old  sofa. 

In  a  casual  way,  Ruth  remarked  : 

"I  suppose  Cyrus  is  out  in  the  old  barn,  hard  at 
work  on  his  new  machine." 

"Not  now.     It  is  all  finished." 

"Is  it  there  now, — the  machine?" 

"No,  he  went  away  in  it." 

"When  did  he  go?" 

"Last  night." 


Another  Message  283 

"Where  has  he  gone?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Ruth  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  the  color  left  her 
face. 

"Oh,  Miss  Ruth,  are  you  ill?" 

"No,  no !  I  am  not  ill.  But  didn't  he  say  when 
he  was  coming  back  ?" 

"He  said  he  might  not  be  back  for  some  days.  But 
he  has  often  done  that." 

Ruth  suddenly  jumped  from  her  chair,  began  walk 
ing  about  the  room,  and  exclaimed  : 

"He's  a  contemptible  thing!" 

"Not  Cyrus?" 

"Yes,  Cyrus.    And  what  a  fool !    Oh,  what  a  fool !" 

Into  Joanna's  placid,  serious  face  came  a  look  of 
amazement. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,  Miss  Ruth,  that,  Cyrus — 
is  a — contemptible — thing  and — and  a  fool!" 

"That's  just  exactly  what  I  mean.  He's  a  fool — a 
contemptible,  weak,  half-hearted,  easily  discouraged, 
stupid  fool!" 

Ruth  was  clearly  excited.  She  spoke  rapidly  and 
with  vehemence,  marching  to  and  fro  as  if  lashed 
to  fury  by  some  strange  obsession.  As  Joanna 
watched  the  little  figure  she  could  hardly  believe  that 
this  was  the  ever  gentle  Ruth  Hey  wood  of  her  ac 
quaintance. 

Ruth  went  on:  "Not  a  speck  of  perseverance! 
And  what  a  coward !  I  never  suspected  he  was  such 
a  hopeless  coward !" 


284  Drowsy 

"Cyrus  a  coward !  Oh,  but — Miss  Ruth,  you 
really " 

"Of  course  he's  a  coward !  Why  has  he  run  away? 
Do  brave  men  run  away?  No.  Cowards  run  away. 
A  mean,  contemptible  thing.  That  covers  it.  A  con 
temptible  cowardly  act  by  a  contemptible,  cowardly 
man.  And  so  ungrateful !  Even  as  a  boy  he  was  un 
grateful." 

Now,  to  Joanna,  who  had  known  Cyrus  intimately 
since  the  age  of  seven,  he  was  the  one  perfect  thing 
in  creation.  Morally  he  was  an  example  for  the  an 
gels;  mentally  the  wonder  of  the  age.  So,  being  a 
somewhat  literal  person,  these  words  came  like  stabs 
from  a  dagger  and  struck  deep  into  her  own  heart. 
But  she  answered — more  in  sadness  than  in  anger: 

"I  really  can't  imagine  anybody  thinking  Cyrus  un 
grateful." 

"Well,  I  do !  He  has  no  real  love  for  anybody  but 
himself.  He  thinks  only  of  himself ;  only  of  himself !" 

"Why,  Miss  Ruth,  when  Mrs.  Eagan  was  laid  up 
for  nearly  a  whole  summer,  years  ago,  Cyrus  took  her 
a  bowl  of  ice  cream  himself,  every  Sunday,  after  our 
own  dinner.  We  had  ice  cream  once  a  week.  He 
was  nothing  but  a  boy  then,  but  he — 

"Of  course  he  did!  Why  not?  Any  boy  would 
carry  ice  cream — just  for  the  sake  of  holding  it." 

Joanna  shook  her  head.  "No.  All  boys  are  not 
like  that." 

Here  Ruth  turned  fiercely  upon  her.  "And  how  do 
you  know  he  did?  He  probably  ate  it  himself  before 


Another  Message  285 

he  got  to  Mrs.  Eagan's.  He  would  tell  you  he  didn't, 
of  course.  He's  an  awful  liar  and  always  was.  You 
know  that,  Joanna,  as  well  as  I  do." 

"Liar !  No,  no,  Miss  Ruth !  You  don't  know  him. 
He  got  entirely  over  that,  years  ago.  He's  as  truthful 
as  anybody.  Long  ago,  before  he  went  away  to 
school,  his  father  made  him  ashamed  of  his  lies 
and " 

"Oh,  for  a  time  perhaps!  Bad  boys  don't  become 
good  over  night. *' 

"But,  Miss  Ruth,  please  listen.  You  only  knew  him 
when  you  were  both  very  young.  He  really  cured 
himself.  He  has  not  lied  since.  He  was  too  young 
to  know  better.  But  even  with  his  lying  he  was 
always  a  good  boy." 

"A  good  boy!  Ha!  He  was  not  a  good  boy.  I 
knew  him  better  than  you  did.  He  was  like  all  other 
boys  and  no  boys  are  good.  They  are  nothing  but 
little  pirates,  prize  fighters,  screaming,  noisy  Indians, 
because  they  are  savages  themselves.  They  have  no 
honor.  They  worship  criminals  and  always  want  the 
criminal  to  escape,  because  they  are  criminals  them 
selves.  And  Cyrus  was  just  like  the  others.  Good 
indeed !  He  was  always  evil  minded." 

"Evil  minded !    Cyrus  evil  minded  !" 

Ruth  stopped,  and  stood  before  Joanna.  "I  tell  you 
he's  bad — just  bad.  As  a  boy  he  was  bad,  as  a  man 
he  is  bad — treacherous,  cowardly,  mean  spirited  and 
absolutely  dishonorable.  And  that's  why  I  hate  him !" 

For  a  moment,  with  angry  eyes  and  quivering  lips 


286  Drowsy 

she  stood  looking  down  into  the  other  woman's  puz 
zled  face.  Then,  dropping  to  her  knees,  she  buried 
her  face  in  Joanna's  lap. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy !   So  unhappy!    Let  me  die!" 

Joanna  understood.  Although  unemotional  herself 
she  knew  how  to  sympathize  with  the  passion  torn 
woman  at  her  knees.  Her  own  calm  spirit  and  sooth 
ing  words  had  their  effect,  and  Ruth  was  soon  herself 
again. 

"And  now,  dearie,"  said  Joanna,  '"I  am  going  to 
bring  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

Alone  in  the  green  sitting  room  Ruth  seated  herself 
beside  the  center  table.  This  table  held,  with  other 
things,  several  books  and  papers,  one  or  two  mechani 
cal  drawings,  some  magazines  and  books.  One  of 
these  books  was  lying  open,  just  before  her.  A  para 
graph  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  open  pages  was  marked 
in  pencil.  Being  a  scientific  book  Cyrus  must  have 
marked  it.  At  that  moment  any  thought  of  interest 
to  him  appealed  to  Ruth  as  something  sanctified  by  his 
absence,  a  special  message  to  herself.  Besides,  that 
the  book  should  be  lying  open  at  this  particular  page 
seemed  to  her  over  wrought  spirit  as  if  placed  there  by 
Cyrus  himself  for  her  to  read. 

Had  she  stopped  to  think  she  would  have  known  the 
open  book  was  accidental,  as  she  was  the  last  person 
whom  Cyrus  could  expect  to  visit  him.  But  Fate  and 
Proidence  do  strange  things  than  fiction  dares  invent. 

Carefully  she  read  the  marked  passage,  in  a  reverent 


Another  Message  287 

spirit,  as  she  would  read  a  farewell  message  from  a  de 
parted  friend.  It  said : 

"All  sounds  from  earth  are  drifting  forever  into 
space.  A  strain  of  music  will  reach,  in  time,  the  most 
distant  star.  The  music  of  the  spheres  is  not  an 
empty  phrase.  We  know  that  wherever  light  will 
travel  those  waves  that  carry  light  through  space  will 
carry  sound.  Messages  from  other  planets,  for  all  we 
know,  are  reaching  us  to-day,  but  we  are  not  attuned 
to  hear  them.  Our  own  little  song,  or  prayer,  may 
reach  the  farthest  star,  but  for  its  reception  the  sender 
and  recipient  must  be  in  true  accord." 

With  quivering  hands  she  clutched  the  book,  held  it 
up  before  her  eyes,  and  read  the  words  again.  Then 
she  dropped  the  book  upon  the  table  and  started  up. 
In  her  eyes  was  a  new  light. 

"But  for  its  reception,"  she  repeated,  "the  sender 
and  recipient  must  be  in  true  accord !" 

In  true  accord !  Yes,  she  and  Drowsy  were  in  true 
accord,  even  as  children.  If  there  was  one  person  in 
this  world  specially  endowed  by  Providence  to  receive 
such  a  message,  surely  it  was  Drowsy ;  he  who  received 
even  the  unspoken  thoughts  of  others!  She  recalled 
her  wonderment  as  a  child  when  her  whispered  mes 
sage  was  understood  by  him,  at  his  own  home,  nearly 
a  mile  away.  It  seemed  to  her  then, — and  now — a 
supernatural  gift.  And  if  this  author  were  correct 
no  distance,  however  vast,  would  be  an  obstacle. 

When  Joanna  returned  with  the  tea  she  found  her 
patient  again  in  a  state  of  excitement,  but  excitement 


288  Drowsy 

of  another  kind.     This  time  it  was  the  thrill  of  a  new 
hope;  the  exhilaration  of  a  great  joy. 


Late  that  night,  when  this  world — and  other  worlds, 
it  seemed — were  silent,  Ruth  went  out  into  the  dark 
ness.  Down  at  the  further  end  of  the  long  garden, 
she  stood,  for  a  time,  looking  up  into  the  heavens. 
The  storm  had  passed.  Slowly,  from  the  west,  great 
clouds  were  drifting  across  a  black  but  starry  sky. 
She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  a  human  being  far 
out  in  that  frigid,  infinite  waste,  a  helpless  wanderer, — 
dead  perhaps, — and  driven  by  her  own  act ! 

Her  eyes  sought  vainly  to  delve  into  the  solemn 
spaces  between  the  stars.  Who  could  believe  a  human 
voice  or  a  thought  could  penetrate  those  black,  appal 
ling  depths?  But  she  remembered  the  sentence, 

"All  sounds  from  earth  are  drifting  forever  into 
space." 

Then,  looking  up  toward  the  ruddy  planet,  and  put 
ting  her  one  absorbing  thought  into  fewest  words,  she 
said  in  a  low  voice,  but  clearly  spoken : 

"Cyrus,   come  back.     I   have   always   loved   you." 

Three  times  she  repeated  it;  and  each  time  with  an 
overflowing  heart. 


If,  among  the  undiscovered   forces  between  other 
worlds  and  ours,  there  moves,  like  waves  of  light,  a 


Another  Message  289 

psychic  power  intensified  by  human  love,  repentance 
and  devotion,  then  this  woman's  message  should  reach 
the  uttermost  limits  of  celestial  space.  Her  very  soul 
was  in  it. 


XXI 

ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS 

RUTH'S  first  night  on  duty  at  the  hospital,  ten 
days  later,  was  eventful. 

She  had  the  care  of  two  patients,  each  in  a 
room  by  himself,  with  an  open  door  between.  One 
of  these  patients  was  a  man  with  a  broken  arm,  a  dis 
placed  rib,  a  bandaged  head  and  wandering  brain.  He 
made  no  trouble  and  was  perfectly  quiet,  except  an 
occasional  mumbling  to  himself. 

The  other  patient,  the  one  who  appealed  more 
strongly  to  her  sympathies,  was  a  boy  about  fifteen. 
Both  legs  had  been  broken  in  an  automobile  collision 
and  he  was  suffering  from  internal  injuries.  In  spite 
of  constant  pain  his  courage  never  weakened.  He 
was  always  in  good  spirits  and  trying  his  best  to  smile. 

290 


Above  the  Clouds  291 

His  gratitude  for  any  attention  went  straight  to  the 
heart  of  his  nurse : — "That  pretty  little  nurse  with  the 
sad  face"  as  one  surgeon  described  her. 

Ruth  was  much  impressed  by  Dr.  Gladwin,  a  tall, 
heavy  man,  with  a  bushy  head  of  the  whitest  hair.  His 
eyes  were  threatening,  his  glance  warlike,  all  in  amus 
ing  contrast,  however,  to  his  friendly,  cheerful  voice, 
his  gentle  manners  and  his  unfailing  sympathy.  He 
said  to  her  that  evening,  after  giving  his  instructions : 

"We  have  not  been  able  to  define  precisely  this  boy's 
injuries.  The  constant  pain  about  his  chest  is  a  bad 
sign,  but  we  are  hoping  for  the  best.  His  legs  will  be 
as  good  as  ever." 

While  these  words  were  spoken  Ruth  looked  across 
the  room  toward  the  patient.  His  eyes  were  closed. 
The  round  boyish  face  was  drawn  with  pain.  At  that 
moment  his  eyes  opened  and  he  returned  Ruth's  look 
with  a  smile.  It  was  a  smile  of  friendliness  and  cour 
age,  the  resolute,  pathetic  courage  of  youth  clinging 
to  life.  The  look  itself  and  the  tale  it  told  brought  a 
sudden  moistness  to  the  eyes  of  the  new  nurse.  Then 
she  followed  Dr.  Gladwin  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Standing  by  the  bedside  of  the  other  patient  she 
looked  down  upon  a  man  whose  eyes  were  partly  cov 
ered  by  the  bandage  about  his  head.  The  pale  face  had 
the  somewhat  disreputable  appearance  that  goes  with 
a  scrubby,  unshaven  chin. 

"This  man,"  said  the  doctor,  "has,  as  you  know,  a 
broken  arm  and  rib,  with  an  injury  to  his  head.  He 
remains  unconscious.  The  first  few  days  he  made 


292  Drowsy 

no  effort  to  speak.  But  now  he  murmurs  something 
at  intervals;  always  the  same  words,  I  am  told.  The 
effort  to  speak  is  a  favorable  sign  in  this  case,  as  it 
indicates  a  returning  memory.  He  will  probably  re 
cover." 

A  few  further  instructions  as  to  her  own  duties,  and 
he  departed. 

Ruth  found  the  boy  more  greedy  for  companionship 
than  the  unconscious  patient — which  was  not  surpris 
ing.  No  human  being  could  be  braver  than  this  boy. 
Yearning  for  sympathy  he  liked  to  have  his  hand  held 
by  this  new  nurse.  As  the  night  wore  on  he  told  her 
in  a  fragmentary  way,  between  periods  of  pain,  of  his 
parents  in  San  Francisco,  of  his  ambitions,  if  he  ever 
recovered.  He  also  gave  details  of  his  accident  last 
Saturday,  just  how  he  was  thrown  from  the  motor 
when  they  collided  with  the  other  car. 

But  the  new  nurse  did  not  neglect  the  less  interest 
ing  patient  in  the  next  room.  He  seemed  like  one  in 
a  deep,  unending  sleep,  except  for  the  occasional  smile 
that  came  to  his  lips  and  the  muttered  words — what 
ever  they  were. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  boy  closed 
his  eyes  and  he,  also,  slept.  Ruth  arranged  the  cov 
ering  about  his  neck  and  shoulders  then  stepped  gently 
into  the  adjoining  room.  For  a  moment  she  stood  at 
the  bedside  of  the  unconscious  man  with  the  scrubby 
chin.  He  lay  motionless,  and  in  a  slumber  so  deep, 
so  silent,  that  it  seemed  to  Ruth  he  could  easily  pass 
away  and  none  be  wiser.  Then,  for  a  time,  she  stood 


Above  the  Clouds  293 

at  the  open  window,  looking  out  into  the  peaceful 
summer  night  and  up  at  the  stars.  Her  thoughts, 
when  alone  these  days,  were  always  in  the  past,  and 
they  were  heart  breaking.  To-night,  even  the  rising 
moon,  although  in  its  fullest  beauty,  seemed  a  perfect 
symbol  of  her  own  future — a  world  of  dust  and  ashes. 

At  last,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation — a  sigh  of  de 
spair  and  buried  hopes — she  left  the  window.  Again 
she  stood  beside  the  unconscious  and  less  interesting 
patient;  he  of  the  bandaged  head  and  scrubby  chin. 
As  she  was  turning  away  she  noticed  a  movement  of 
his  lips — the  beginning  of  the  periodic  smile.  She  felt 
a  sudden  curiosity  to  hear  the  coming  words.  If,  as  the 
doctor  said,  they  were  always  the  same,  they  might  be 
a  message  he  had  wished  to  send,  important  to  wife  or 
parents,  that  could  lead  to  his  identification.  Besides 
she  had  a  strong  desire  to  learn  what  words  or  what 
thought  behind  the  words — could  bring  so  much  hap 
piness,  even  momentarily,  to  a  half  conscious  spirit. 

The  light  in  the  room,  while  softened  by  shades,  was 
clear  enough  to  reveal  the  uncovered  portion  of  his 
face.  And,  as  she  looked  more  carefully,  the  face  was 
less  "common"  than  she  had  judged  from  the  un 
shaven  chin.  She  leaned  over  the  bed,  her  face  not 
far  from  his,  and  listened.  Through  the  open  win 
dow  came  no  sound  from  the  sleeping  city;  only  the 
pale  light  from  the  rising  moon ;  that  cold,  dead 
world  of  dust  and  ashes.  It  may  have  been  the 
solitude  and  the  silence  of  the  hour  that  brought  to 
Ruth  a  feeling  of  awe — almost  of  guilt  at  this  intrii- 


294  Drowsy 

sion  upon  the  privacy  of  another's  thoughts ;  secrets, 
perhaps,  of  a  defenseless  brain.  As  she  was  wonder 
ing  what  sort  of  accident  had  brought  him  there  the 
blissful  smile  became  more  pronounced.  Although 
his  eyes  were  partly  covered  by  the  overhanging  band 
age  it  was  clear  that  the  dormant  spirit  within  was 
stirred  by  memories  of  a  supreme  happiness,  of  a  tran 
scendent  joy  that  no  physical  pain  could  extinguish. 

Further  still  she  bent  over,  until  her  face  was  near 
his  own. 

Then,  through  every  nerve  of  brain  and  body,  she 
felt  a  sensation  of  mingled  awe,  of  terror,  of  bewilder 
ment,  as  if  she  were  suddenly  in  touch  with  another 
world,  when  she  heard,  hardly  above  a  whisper : 

"Cyrus,  come  back.     I  have — always — loved  you." 

Breathless,  as  in  a  trance,  Ruth  gazed  at  the  lips, 
where  lingered — but  slowly  fading,  as  if  reluctant  to 
pass  away — the  expression  of  a  great  content.  The 
brief  liberty  of  a  rapturous  though.  Then  back  into 
the  darkness. 


Needless  to  say  that  Cyrus  Alton  was  not  neglected 
during  his  convalescense.  And  Dr.  Gladwin's  prophecy 
was  correct.  Cyrus  not  only  recovered  but  his  recov 
ery,  after  once  regaining  consciousness,  was  surpris 
ingly  rapid.  So  rapid  that  the  "little  nurse  with  the 


Above  the  Clouds  295 

sad  face"  threw  aside  her  sadness,  as  if  waking  from 
a  dream,  and  became  the  happiest  and  most  inspiriting 
person  in  her  vicinity. 

On  a  certain  afternoon,  when  the  convalescent  was 
first  allowed  to  talk  as  much  as  he  wished,  he  told  his 
story.  And  no  better  audience  could  be  desired  than 
the  one  then  seated  on  the  bed  beside  him,  and  quite 
near  the  speaker — perhaps  to  save  him  the  effort  of 
raising  his  voice.  The  day  was  warm,  the  windows 
open.  Faintly  through  the  closed  blinds  came  the 
murmur  of  the  city,  from  beyond  the  spacious  grounds 
of  the  hospital. 

The  story  was  simply  told.  He  started  at  night  for 
the  red  planet.  He  got  there  and  he  landed.  The  air 
seemed  much  like  ours.  But  he  found  himself  in  a 
world  quite  different  from  his  own.  All  was  archi 
tecture  ;  temples,  towers  and  enormous  viaducts  fad 
ing  away  into  the  horizon,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 
And  everything  was  tall  and  slender.  The  trees  were 
very  high  with  branches  pointing  upward  like  poplars, 
and  always  formally  laid  out  in  avenues,  or  in  geomet 
ric  patterns.  And  the  color !  It  was  like  looking  at  an 
endless  city  through  orange  glasses.  The  few  people 
he  saw  had  larger  heads  than  ours,  more  like  children, 
but  like  children  with  very  short  legs.  They  were  sur 
prisingly  light  on  their  feet.  He  was  surprised  at  their 
high  jumps  until  he  remembered  that  a  man  who 
weighs  two  hundred  pounds  on  the  earth  weighs  but 
seventy-five  pounds  on  Mars.  He  really  saw  but  little, 
however,  for  although  he  had  tested  the  atmosphere  he 


296  Drowsy 

found,  after  looking  about  him  a  moment,  that  the  air, 
while  pleasant  enough  to  breath,  was  affecting  his 
nerves  and  brain,  almost  like  laughing  gas.  Then, 
as  he  stood  there,  and  began  to  realize  his  danger,  the 
wonderful  thing  happened! 

Like  a  soft  whisper  it  came  to  his  ears;  gently  but 
clearly,  the  words  that  made  him  forget  the  things 
about  him, — and  all  else,  for  that  matter.  He  thought, 
at  first,  the  lighter  air  was  affecting  his  nerves  and 
exciting  his  imagination ;  that  his  own  brain  was  fool 
ing  him.  For  he  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  that  such 
a  thing  was  impossible.  But  as  he  stood  there,  wonder 
ing,  hoping,  trying  hard  to  believe  it  might  be  possible, 
the  message  came  again,  in  the  same  words.  Then  he 
knew  it  was  no  delusion.  He  knew  it  was  no  invention 
of  his  own,  nor  the  cry  from  his  own  heart  of  its  one 
desire. 

"And,  oh,  Ruthy,  it  was  the  best  news  that  ever 
came  to  that  planet!" 

After  various  remarks  of  a  not  impersonal  nature 
from  his  audience,  he  continued : 

"And  to  think  of  its  getting  there!  I  knew  it  was 
possible,  theoretically,  but  I  didn't  really  believe  it. 
Three  times  it  came.  Then  I  wasted  no  more  time  in 
wondering.  I  clambered  back  into  the  machine.  For 
eign  countries  had  no  further  interest  for  me! 

Foreign  countries  indeed !"  and  Ruth  closed  her  eyes, 
and  shuddered. 

"Well,"  the  traveler  continued,  "I  reached  home  at 
night,  as  you  know." 


Above  the  Clouds  297 

"Reached  home!" 

He  laughed.  "That  shows  how  relative  all  things 
are,  doesn't  it?  By  home  I  meant  the  Earth.  I 
traveled  as  fast  as  I  dared  for  I  wanted  to  meet  some 
body  at  Longfields.  Instead  of  coming  down  over 
North  America  I  found  I  was  sailing  up  over  the 
Eastern  coast  of  Africa.  When  at  last  I  struck  Massa 
chusetts,  I  met  a  thunderstorm.  Any  fool  would  know 
better  than  to  stay  out  in  it,  but  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get 
to  Longfields — where  I  had  important  business — and  I 
took  a  chance.  I  was  nearing  Worcester  when  the 
storm  struck  me  I  had  run  into  it,  not  realizing  how 
fast  I  was  going." 

"Yes,  yes — go  on!" 

"Well,  I  shall  never  know  just  what  happened.  I 
don't  even  know  what  became  of  the  machine.  The 
next  thing  I  did  know  I  was  in  this  bed,  and  you  be 
side  it.  Until  you  spoke  to  me  and  I  heard  your  voice 
I  believed  I  was  dreaming." 

"What  do  you  think  did  happen,  Drowsy?" 

"I  think  a  touch  of  lightning,  an  electric  shock  of 
some  kind,  knocked  me  silly,  burst  the  door  open  and 
sent  me  heels  over  head  out  of  the  falling  machine." 

Then  Ruth  told  him  how  he  was  found  in  a  field,  the 
ground,  not  far  away,  all  dug  up,  a  big  tree  splintered 
and  a  stone  wall  torn  to  pieces. 

"Yes,  yes — it  probably  took  a  run  for  a  high  jump, 
went  off  into  space  and  is  now  about  a  thousand  bil 
lion  miles  the  other  side  of  Neptune." 

"Thank  heaven,  it's  gone!"  exclaimed  Ruth.     And 


298  Drowsy 

obeying  a  sudden  impulse  she  leaned  over  and  kissed 
the  happy  man. 

At  that  moment  Dr.  Gladwin  entered  from  the  ad 
joining  room.  Quickly  Ruth  straightened  up  and 
backed  away,  her  cheeks  redder  than  roses. 

The  old  doctor  laughed,  his  face  aglow  with  a  boy 
ish  delight.  "Don't  let  me  interrupt,  for  that's  what 
makes  the  world  go  round.  Doesn't  it,  Mr.  Alton?" 

"Yes,  Doctor.  It  always  has  and  it  will,  forever 
and  forever." 

"True,  indeed !  And  how  far  above  science,  electri 
cal,  medical  and  any  other  kind,  or  any  human  inven 
tion — even  yours." 

"There's  no  comparison,"  said  the  smiling  patient. 

"And  what  a  heaven-sent  cure  for  a  damaged  head 
and  arm  and  ribs!" 

"And  a  damaged  heart,"  said  Cyrus,  waving  a  hand 
toward  the  rosy  Ruth.  "It's  more  than  a  cure.  It's 
a  continuous  miracle!" 

Here  the  much  embarrassed  Ruth  interrupted : 
"Please  don't  think,  Dr.  Gladwin,  that— 

"That  you  treat  other  patients  as  kindly?  Oh, 
never!" 

"God  forbid!"  exclaimed  Cyrus. 

"I  want  you  to  know,"  Ruth  persisted,  "that  in  Sep 
tember  there  is  to  be  a — 

Dr.  Gladwin  nodded.     "Wedding.     Yes,  I  knew  it." 

"You  knew  it!" 

"Several  days  ago." 

"Why,  who  told  you?" 


Above  the  Clouds  299 

"You  both  told  me." 

"We  both  told  you!"  exclaimed  nurse  and  patient 
as  they  stared  first  at  each  other,  then  at  the  doctor. 

"Some  days  ago,"  said  Dr.  Gladwin,  with  a  serious 
face  and  impressive  manner,  "a  certain  nurse  was 
waiting  for  me  at  my  office — early  in  the  morning. 
She  told  me  she  had  discovered  the  identity  of  a  cer 
tain  patient.  Her  voice  was  tremulous.  One  hand 
she  pressed  tight  against  her  heart  to  silence  its  beat 
ing.  She  knew,  as  I  did,  that  loud  reverberations 
might  awaken  sleeping  neighbors.  She  had  eyes. 
Possibly  you  have  noticed  those  eyes,  Mr.  Alton." 

"I  live  in  them,"  said  Cyrus. 

"Well,  deep,  down  deep  within  those  eyes  I  could 
see  the  Thing  that  makes  the  world  go  round ;  the  ten 
der,  unchanging  glow  that  is  life  to  a  broken  lover." 

Here  Cyrus  smiled,  nodded,  gulped,  started  to  say 
something  and  gave  it  up. 

Dr.  Gladwin  continued.  "She  did  not  tell  me  she 
hoped  that  particular  patient  would  recover.  She  told 
me  he  tnitst  recover.  She  made  it  clear  that  nothing 
in  this  world,  or  in  any  other  world,  was  to  be  con 
sidered  until  that  young  man  was  out  of  danger." 

"Oh,  how  can  you  make  fun  of  me!"  protested 
Ruth. 

"Make  fun  of  you!  Make  fun  of  the  most  sacred 
thing  in  human  life!" 

"No,  Ruth,"  said  Cyrus,  "he  is  not  making  fun  of 
you.  He  is  simply  reciting  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
earthly  poems." 


3OO  Drowsy 

"Yes,  he  speaks  truly,"  said  the  doctor :  "the  oldest 
in  the  world  yet  always  young.  An  entrancing  poem, 
containing  also  the  secret  of  the  young  man  with  the 
broken  head.  But  he  hides  his  secret  in  a  louder  way. 
He  sings  it  to  any  listener — and  all  day  long." 

"Oh,  come  now,"  from  Cyrus.  "I  say,  Doctor, 
you " 

Ruth  laughed.  "Don't  interrupt.  Please  go  right 
on,  Doctor.  It's  just  lovely!" 

Dr.  Gladwin  obeyed.  "Metaphorically  he  engages 
an  auditorium  and  a  military  band  to  announce  the 
coming  tidings.  Then,  to  the  assembled  multitude,  he 
shouts  the  joyful  secret.  But  when  alone  with  me, 
those  public  methods  are  not  necessary.  If  I  men 
tion,  in  a  casual  way,  the  nurse  with  the  eloquent  eyes, 
the  color  rushes  into  his  pale  face,  his  lips  quiver,  his 
eyes  become  moist  and  his  pulse  jumps  and  dances  like 
a  thing  possessed. 

Cyrus  laughed  and  leaned  back  against  his  pillow. 
"Yes  and  ten  times  more  so  when  I'm  in  her  presence 
and  can  see  her." 

"Of  course,"  said  Dr.  Gladwin,  "a  healthy,  normal 
habit.  Long  life  to  it!  There's  no  better  way  to  im 
part  the  ever  welcome  tidings  'I  am  in  love,  and  she's 
mine !'  But  what  a  tonic,  this  carefully  guarded  secret ! 
Never,  since  the  world  began  was  cure  so  swift." 

Then,  in  a  more  serious  tone,  but  with  his  friendly 
smile: 

"And  all  deserved!  To  both  of  you  has  come  the 
high  reward  of  Courage  and  Devotion." 


Above  the  Clouds 


301 


Ruth  returned  his  smile,  the  color  still  in  her  cheeks. 
Cyrus  closed  his  eyes  and  breathed  a  sigh  of  fath 
omless  content. 

"It  all  seems  too  good  to  be  true,"  he  murmured. 


—  •     "  "'  II  I  II   II  III II 
A     000110746     5 


